


A Hundred Hundred Nights

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Anders, Grey Warden and Spirit Healer to the Mage Rebellion, is arranged to marry Fenris, Commander of the United Dalish Forces. Anders must negotiate the terms of an alliance, advocate for the Mage Rebellion, and learn to trust in the mysterious, stern stranger who is now his husband.





	1. To The Future

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift to the two discord chats I joined, the DA Weird Shit discord and the Fenders Love discord. I appreciate all the warm support and fun discussions, and wanted to give the members of both groups a big thank you gift for being so awesome! So I made a poll with all my fic ideas and the arranged marriage AU was the one that won the poll.
> 
> Thank you all for being so wonderful! I hope you enjoy this story!

“I do not like it, Anders. You know I don't. But we need to solidify those trade routes outside of Chantry control.” The old elven woman said, her words musical and faintly accented even when she echoed such bitter sentiments. Ander knew it was simply how the woman was- everything she did was graceful and elegant, even the way she spoke. She may have been a former Warden and leader of the Mage Rebellion, but Grand Enchanter Fiona was still Orlesian to her core. Her robes were silk dyed dark navy and embroidered with starflowers made of silver thread. The hem swept across the stone floor of Anders’s cramped tower bedroom. Her dark hair was tightly bound back from her heart shaped face, and her large pale green blue eyes looked sympathetic and tired. She looked as tired as Anders felt, and the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows only emphasized the wrinkles around her eyes. 

Meanwhile Anders was packing up all of his scant belongings into a single wooden chest. Some of the space had to be devoted to clothing and necessities, but even then it left more room than Anders had items to fill it. He sighed and let his eyes wander over his tower room, hoping that he could find some extra possession that he could take with him. His entire life could fit in half of a wooden trunk, Anders thought with a little bitterness. How easy it was to pick up and leave everything behind.

“If there was another way we would pursue it, Anders. I swear to you we would try. But this is all we can offer.” Fiona said sadly, and Anders felt more than a little guilty for being so sullen. Fiona was running an entire Rebellion out of a Ferelden fortress. She was the one who kept them united. Even with help from him and other disgruntled former Circle mages, the toll on her was immense. There was no grey in Fiona’s hair when the Rebellion began four years ago at the end of the Blight.

“I know, Fiona. I know.” Anders sighed. It was a logical conclusion to come to, once all the complex emotions were taken out of the matter. There were only so many ways to cement an alliance, and the Mage Rebellion was not wealthy or powerful enough to force a friendship. There had to be an exchange, and there had to be some give and take. Anders folded up another one of his patchy robes, an olive green affair with several potion stains on the sleeves, and placed it in his trunk.

“Their leaders are reasonable, Anders. They asked for us to open up our trade in runecraft and to let those with promise train in our halls as needed. It’s very little, all things considered.” Fiona reasoned with him, but Anders already knew.

“I know, Fiona. For safe trade and their warriors, they need our runes and recorded knowledge in magic. I know.” Anders said, looking through his small collection of books and journals to determine what could be taken and what was best left behind. He would take his journals, Anders decided. They contained all his research and personal thoughts, they kept him sane through this on again, off again Rebellion- he needed his journals. What would he write today, Anders wondered. “Dear Karl, I’m finally leaving the walls of a Circle to participate in what would make for a better trashy Antivan opera than real life, but reality it is!”

“These new allies will stand with us against the Chantry’s iron rule.” Fiona explained, as much trying to reassure Anders that this was the right course of action as to convince herself. “The Dalish have united, and their military leader is capable. He will stand with us, if-”

“I know what we have promised, Fiona.” Anders interrupted her. “A marriage between a leader of the Dalish tribes and a leader in the Mage Rebellion. An alliance.” 

Anders would be simply become part of a trade agreement, the worth of his life measured out in bushels of grain and crates of pelts. His life, and the life of his future partner, all written out in trade terms and vows to the future. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of the future.

“It cannot be me.” Fiona said firmly. “I am too old, and a union between the Dalish and the Mages would crumble when I die. They would not take me anyhow. The Dalish were insistent: it must be a human, and they must be highly valued within our organization.”

“And somehow I am the one suitable marriage candidate?” Anders asked, for some of the terms of the contract read more like a hostage negotiation than a marriage agreement. “Somehow you think I can keep this alliance together? Why not someone else?”

“Enchanter Surana is marrying the King of Ferelden, as they fought together during the Blight and ended it together. She is also an elf, city elf though she may be. We have promised Enchanter Trevelyan to a Templar leader who left the Order and has organized a counter movement.” Fiona explained, stepping further into Ander’s tower room to sit on the one chair he kept up here.

Anders continued to sort through his meager belongings as Fiona spoke. Mother’s pillow was packed already, as was Surana’s poorly knit red wool scarf. His letters, every letter he received, halves of entire conversations, were carefully bound together and packed in oilskin. No matter what, these letters would be safe. It was as he sorted through a small trinket from Enchanter Trevelyan (a little booklet of rare plants she sketched for him when he trained her in healing) that Anders finally registered what Fiona had just told him.

“Excuse me?” Anders choked out.

“We insisted on marriage, Anders. Not slavery.” Fiona tried to assure him, but all he could think of was the image of tiny Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan, her dark hair bound up in a thick braid and headscarf as she wore her plain linen robes, tough leather boots, and matching gloves. He could see earthy Evelyn in his mind's eye, a smudge of dirt streaked across her flat nose, her round cheeks freckled from the sunlight that turned her skin gold. He could see her so clearly, everything that a good mage was: healer, warrior, protector, friend- and he saw the cold steel and bright scarlet of a Templar tearing this bright, brilliant little mage apart. She would come back to them with dead eyes and a scarlet sunburst on her forehead, pale and weak and dead inside. Fiona was sending the woman to her death, all in the hopes of an alliance!

“She won't.” Anders insisted. “She can't!”

“She already agreed. She leaves in a fortnight to travel up to Haven.” Fiona said. “I was hesitant as well, but she insisted that someone must be willing to give if we wish to gain.”

“She’ll get herself killed, that’s what we’ll gain! Another dead mage! You know those people are fanatics. The proximity to Andraste’s Sacred Ashes makes them completely barmy! They sing Chantry hymns all the time! I would know, I went there with Surana when she recruited me as a Warden.” Anders protested. “She will be killed and we’ll have lost one of our own!” Anders couldn't bear to lose another friend, not to this war. Not to another Templar. Templars didn't change their flaming swords.

“We’ve hired a mercenary company to escort Evelyn to Haven, and I requested that they remain an extra fortnight before setting out to take other work.” Fiona said calmly. “I also asked their leader to keep his eye on her. If he judges her to be in any grave danger I requested that he bring her back to us safely.”

“How much does that cost?” Anders asked. Fiona was asking a lot of a merc to go against a group of former Templars. What was her mercenary crew getting out of this? Anders realized he was packing up his journals with more ferocity than was warranted, and he slowed down. His hands were shaking.

“It is a lot of gold, but their reputation is worth every bit of coin we have.” Fiona said firmly. “Bull’s Chargers come highly recommended.”

“Make sure she has those guards with her at all times, then. I know the bastards will put her to the brand as soon as they get the chance.” Anders muttered.

“Hopefully they won't. We believe he will treat her well. The letters have been promising. We must have faith.” Fiona insisted.

“A fat lot of confidence you’re inspiring in me, Fiona.” Anders huffed. “I bet ten sovereigns she will be Tranquil in three months.” It was a morbid bet. Gallows humor, Anders thought glumly, but it was all he had now.

“Enchanter Trevelyan is part of Ostwick’s nobility. She has more than enough eyes on her to keep her safe. It was her or Surana, and Trevelyan insisted it be her on the basis that Surana and the King have proven their love for each other and deserve some happiness out of this mess.” Fiona said softly. Her eyes, normally so sharp and calculating, went misty and soft at the mention of Surana and the King of Ferelden. 

A good love story tended to do that to people, Anders reasoned. Surana and Alistair were one of those rare couples who understood each other without words, though Alistair did enough talking for two people. Surana would smile politely at everyone, but it was Alistair who made her laugh until tears swam in her eyes. And no one would fight as fiercely for Alistair as Surana did. Anders agreed that if anyone deserved happiness from this arrangement, it was Surana and Alistair who deserved it most.

“They’ve earned happiness, but I don't see why Evelyn’s head needs to go on the block to buy it.” Anders muttered. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all! All they had crafted, all the secret letters, the careful planning, the desperate running, all the people freed and lives lost and sacrifices made- and now they had to make more. It would never end.

It won't end in bloodshed this time, Anders tried to convince himself. This time they had plans. Allies. It was more than the rebellion could have ever hoped for. The Ferelden nobles agreed to let their human king marry an elf and a mage- even if that elf mage was the Hero of Ferelden and savior of them all. It was proof that the world was changing, slowly but steadily. Now an extraordinary woman could marry an extraordinary man, regardless of their backgrounds. Someday it could be anyone. Anders told himself to believe in this future. It was one worth fighting for.

“No one’s head is going on any chopping block.” Fiona said firmly. “We all must make sacrifices, but they will prevent the bloodshed of our people. It is for the present and the future.” But she reached out to lightly lay a hand on Anders’s shoulder.

“If there was another way we would take it, Anders.” Fiona murmured, and Anders knew it was the truth. When Fiona left his tower room, Anders closed the lid of his trunk and crossed the room to stare out the window towards the north and the future. He watched the sun gleam off the ocean. Surana gave the Mage Rebellion shelter in Amaranthine, and the mages had developed an easy rapport with the citizens of the town. The citizens were quick to accept the mages and all the benefits a trained group of mages could bring them. The health of the city was greatly improved, and the mages had taken to tutoring the lower class citizens in the city. There was peace and prosperity, and none of the predicted disaster the Chantry swore would occur should mages live in the general populace. People were taking notice. Maybe mages weren't evil. Maybe there was good that could come out of partnering with more mages.

But it was only the beginning. There was so much more to be done.

Anders sat at his desk and pulled out a small leather bound journal from a drawer in his desk. He took a pen and inkwell, dipper the nib into the black ink, opened the journal to a page halfway filled with writing, and set pen to paper.

13th day of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon Age

Dearest Karl,

I am engaged. It feels strange to write down that word. Engaged. I wonder if I should act as the proud bridegroom and drink tankards of ale while boasting about my prowess. Or perhaps I am more akin to the blushing bride, and I must sit with my things and worry over the future. I wish I could drink, but I’m certain Oghren has laid claim to all of the ale.

Grand Enchanter Fiona (can she even be called Grand Enchanter when she’s left the official Circle system?) wishes it could be otherwise, but I’m getting shipped off to the Dalish camp outside of Kirkwall as a future husband to a Dalish war commander. I know nothing of this man. I am crossing the sea to land I’ve never seen to marry a man I have never met, all for the faint hope that someday in the future mages like us can live in a world where we can marry whomever we want. Live however we please. Where we can be people, not prisoners, living in the sunshine and not a prison. It’s only a slight hope, but I will fight for this chance for change. I will fight for the future.

I can sacrifice my own happiness for such a future, but I am still afraid.

All I know about my future spouse is that he is the Commander of the Dalish Clans. He helped unite the Dalish Clans for the first time in several ages. He must be a powerful person. A brave sort. He seems highly educated. His correspondence has been frequent, and his negotiations suggest that he’s clever and has great foresight. He wants to help the Dalish stand on their own so they no longer have to rely on the leniency of the Chantry for survival. The Dalish are much like us mages. The Chantry has held our leash for far too long.

But my future husband has sent me no letters, has written nothing to me. There was a polite formal message agreeing to the marriage and the negotiations the marriage would cement, but that was all. I do not expect a love match. Love is rare. Yet I had hoped that he and I would get along. I hoped that we would find some sort of peaceful arrangement, that we could be partners. I hoped to know something of the person behind the title of Commander. I hoped that I could at least get something more than a bland political letter and a name. Did I forget to tell you the name of my future spouse, Karl? I will share it, and everything I can remember about him.

His name is Fenris. He is the Commander of the Dalish Clans, which is an elaborate title to say that he is a clan leader and leads the united clan’s warriors into battle. He seems to be the practical sort, and values education. He agreed that he will help the mage rebellion in battle if the mages within the clan are allowed to train with Circle mages and learn from our collection of knowledge. Our marriage will give the Rebellion allies, open trade routes, and supply us with meat and fresh foods. Our marriage will feed our people and protect them as we fight the Chantry. With this alliance we have a chance.

A marriage with a stranger is worth this, I tell myself, but I fear that I will not be strong enough to bear my responsibilities. I think you would tell me to keep my chin up, that I am capable of this and so much more, but I will always have my doubts. I will always worry and wonder.

I think I will go to dinner now, and set out my outfit for travel tomorrow. Everything else has been packed, though I bring nothing but half a trunk with me. I have no formal robes, not like Fiona who always attends negotiations and is so very Orlesian, or Surana, who is marrying a King (and it still feels odd to think of Alistair as a King, let me tell you!). I suppose I will have to attend my wedding in my Warden armor. It is the only gear fit for ceremony, and it would mean something, I suppose.

I will still wear your earring, Karl, even after I’m married. I would never leave it behind.

All my love,

Anders

Anders set his pen down on the desk and waited for the ink to dry on the page. If it was going to be his last day at Amaranthine, his last day in the Keep and the headquarters of the Mage Rebellion, he should spend it well. It was one last day among his friends. He should spend it among his friends. Anders stood from the desk and, casting one final look around his rooms, crossed to the door and shut it firmly closed. He took to the stairs and headed for the main hall. Tonight, Anders would try to enjoy himself.

It was his last night among friends.

-

“We will miss you dearly, Anders.” Surana declared, reaching out and grabbing hold of Anders’s middle to squeeze him tightly. She only looked small, but her grip was fierce. Her curly dark hair had been braided back into hundreds of small braids that she wore up in one great knot on the top of her head. Her round cheeks were only made rounder when she smiled, and she wrinkled her wide nose when she pulled away from their embrace. Anders saw the tears in her big green gold eyes, and how she tried to wipe them away on the sleeve of her blue and silver uniform. The tips of her ears were bright red, and there was a flush to her amber skin.

“I will miss you too, Warden Commander Surana.” Anders said softly. “You have been nothing but good to me.” Surana had risked her neck so many times to keep Anders safe. He regretted not being able to return the favor.

“Please, Anders. It’s Neria. We’re informal here.” Surana insisted. 

“You’re still arl and Warden Commander, until you marry Alistair and become queen as well.” Anders insisted. “I’ve got to be extra formal now, haven’t I?”

“I’m still surprised the nobility have allowed it.” A low voice, somewhat growly and ill tempered, remarked from behind Surana. Nathaniel Howe emerged, as immaculately dressed in Warden uniform as he ever was. Stern, sullen Nathaniel, Anders thought fondly. Good old Nathaniel Howe. At least he wouldn’t make the voyage to Kirkwall alone.

“I may have threatened to not let Barkspawn breed and replenish their beloved Mabari packs.” Neria Surana said with a casual shrug. “That seemed to speed negotiations along.” Said Mabari war hound was lounging in a bright sunbeam, and the young woman rubbing his belly and cooing at him stood up and jogged over to Anders.

“I suppose it’s you first, then me.” Evelyn Trevelyan said once she reached the group. “I leave in two weeks time.”

“Fiona told me.” Anders replied. “Be safe, Evelyn.”

“I will be well, Anders. Neria said she knew my future husband when she was in Kinloch.” Evelyn said, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “I hope that we will get on well together, for everyone’s sake.” She smiled at them both, her cheeks dimpling, but Anders saw the anxiety in her dark eyes and the worry pinching her round face. Even her sandy skin looked a little ashen.

“Anders and I both knew him well. We were in Kinloch together, him a recruit and us as mages.” Neria said gently, trying to reassure the woman in their company. “I heard he was transferred to Kirkwall after the Blight, but when the city fell to chaos and their Champion took charge, he gave the Templar Order over to his second in command and left the order to join a peace delegation in Haven.”

“Wait, if Neria knew him-” Anders could only think of a few Templars who survived Kinloch Circle during the Blight, and none of the stories of what happened to those Templars were particularly encouraging. Madness, rage, and a heightened mistrust of all mages and magic tended to afflict the Templars in the best of times. Those in Kinloch were tortured by demons and blood magic. No one could have gone through that experience unchanged. Harrowings changed mages, and what was Kinloch for the Templars but a prolonged Harrowing with no defenses? No chance for escape?

“It’s Ser Cullen, Anders.” Neria murmured. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes said “don’t say anything to make this harder on her.” 

“Oh.” Anders said, making his tone jovial and filled with false cheer. “Ser Cullen of the poncy hair? Ser Cullen of the eternal grumpy face? Ser Cullen ‘No you may not go downstairs for a midnight snack you have a perfectly good bowl of fruit so eat it?’ That Ser Cullen?” He tried to think of positive memories of the man, and was dismayed to find so few. Be a little more reassuring, Anders told himself. Put some effort into it! But his teasing seemed to brighten Evelyn’s mood, and she giggled. Her smile dimpled her round cheeks and the color seemed to return to her face.

“He sounds a little demanding! I hope he isn’t so terrible.” Evelyn confided. So young, Anders thought, and he wondered if it was wise to conceal his opinion about Ser Cullen from Cullen’s future wife. Perhaps he’s changed, Anders told himself, and is less authoritarian. Maybe Evelyn won’t be headed to her doom when she travels to Haven.

“Anders is biased.” Neria said. “Ser Cullen caught him sneaking barn cats into the children’s wing and he was put on kitchen duty for the week.”

“The cats were excellent mousers and friends to the children.” Anders said defensively. “He was being ridiculous!”

“He did argue for the cats to remain in Kinloch. He only objected to your methods of bringing them in.” Neria replied. “Ser Cullen was a decent man when we knew him. Have faith, Evelyn.”

“Thank you. Oh! Anders, I got you a gift before you leave. It’s all packed up on the wagon, but here’s a list of the items you’ll find inside!” Evelyn handed Anders a piece of parchment, her dark eyes sparkling. “I don't much care for fashion, so I had Fiona help me. Warden Commander Surana and I picked out the rest.” Anders looked over the list of items, and was nearly overcome by what Evelyn thought to include. Two trunks, one packed with clothing, the other filled with the tools of the healer’s trade.

“This is far too much.” Anders murmured. “Brass scales? Glass beakers? A mortar and pestle of granite?” There was more, so much more: blades, whetstones, bandages, a little heat rune to keep a small cauldron hot when boiling potions- a fortune’s worth of equipment, all for him!

“We can't send out greatest spirit healer out into the world without the appropriate gear.” Neria declared. “You can start work teaching other mages healing arts, proving those backwards Free Marchers- no offense, Evelyn- how magic can help instead of hurt.”

“None taken.” Evelyn said smoothly. “The back has all the clothing. Two sets of work robes, two sets of formal robes, and a good winter cloak for the mountain. A good solid pair of boots, too.” Evelyn pointedly looked at Anders’s scuffed boots.

“You gave me a bridal trousseau.” Anders said softly, his throat tight with unshed tears. He would not leave Amaranthine with nothing. His friends had looked after him. He would enter Kirkwall with possessions, he would not be some laughingstock, a poor Warden bringing nothing but his armor, weapons, and a ratty trunk half filled with books and ragged robes.

“A woman’s trousseau is usually coin and lacy undergarments.” Nathaniel said dryly. “Not linen work robes and glass vials.”

Anders flipped the list over to look over the inventory, and burst out in delighted laughter. He wordlessly handed the list to Nathaniel and pointed to a small section in the list: Smallclothes, seven pairs. Orlesian silk and Antivan lace. Black stockings. Garters. A flimsy silk robe, peacock blue. It was a decadent collection of items that Anders would never wear outside of a bed chamber.

“It is a trousseau!” Anders exclaimed when he finally caught his breath. “A true trousseau!”

“I suggested the stockings and garters.” Neria sounded rather smug. “I know you’re such a vain little peacock.”

“I also ordered a warm bed robe.” Evelyn pointed to the item on the list. “Wool, dyed Warden blue. It’s for when the nights get cold.”

“With all the other items in the trousseau we hope you won’t have many cold nights.” Neria teased, and Anders blushed. “I hope- I truly do hope you find happiness with your future husband, Anders.” Neria’s smile seemed a bit strained, and Anders saw what he thought was guilt cloud Neria’s eyes. She gets to marry the great love of her life, Anders thought, and she feels guilty? Anders took her small, calloused hands in his larger ones.

“You enjoy being married to Alistair, Neria. Maker knows you two deserve it.” Anders said firmly. “And you will make a great queen.”

“Thank you, Anders.” Neria replied. “Now go before your ship sets sail without you!” Neria gave him a gentle shove, and Anders hastily finished his farewells, clutching the sheet of parchment to his chest. This is not goodbye forever, Anders sternly told himself. It was only goodbye for now. He would see his friends, the Wardens of Amaranthine and the mages of the Mage Rebellion, once again.

He had to believe that he would see them again.

Nathaniel walked with Anders to the harbor and they boarded the ship, The Dragon’s Roar. Anders’s three (three!) chests were placed in his cabin, the one he shared with Nathaniel. It would be three days at sea before they reached Kirkwall. It could be faster, the captain said, if the weather favored them. Nathaniel returned to their cabin to rest, as sea travel never agreed with him and he expressed a desire “to find a little peace and quiet before you fill the cabin with your chatter.” Anders remained above, watching as the city of Amaranthine faded into the horizon behind them. He crossed the deck to the prow of the ship and leaned against the railing. Ahead of him was the ocean, blue and bright and seemingly endless. Yet beyond those waves lay Kirkwall, where he was to meet his future husband for the first time. Beyond the waves Fenris, Commander of the Dalish Forces, waited for him. Beyond the waves was Anders’s future. Anders pulled out a small flask from the pocket of his Warden armor and unscrewed the cap. He poured a small amount of the mead inside into the ocean below, an Anderfels tradition he could never quite forget. Pour libations for the dead and to the Maker boy, he heard his father’s gruff voice echo in his ear, else you bring doom upon your head.

“Here’s to the future.” Anders whispered, lifting his flask up in a mock toast before he took a sip of the mead, the sweet liquid warm on his tongue. May this future be a bright one.


	2. Arrival

“Lean too far over the rail, and your future husband will have to fish you out of the bay.” Nathaniel said, grabbing Anders’s shoulder to steady himself. Nathaniel’s aristocratic face was waxy, and he looked like he was barely holding himself together as the boat rocked with the waves. Anders, feeling more than a little pity for his friend, cast a panacea spell. Nathaniel’s pinched expression eased, and he took a deep breath of the salty sea air.

“Feel better?” Anders asked brightly. Nathaniel rolled his eyes and stood next to Anders on the deck as they watched the city of Kirkwall rise above the horizon, tall towers of harsh stone piercing the blue skies above.

“They tore down the statues.” Nathaniel said with some surprise in his voice. “The statues that guarded the bay.”

“Statues?” Anders asked.

“Kirkwall was an outpost of the Tevinter Imperium ages ago, a quarry that gave the Imperium the stone they needed to expand their empire.” Nathaniel explained. “It was the furthest south the Vints got, but Kirkwall was established as a trade center. It specialized in the transport of slaves.” The ship slowly passed through the cliffs guarding the bay, and Anders looked down into the murky water. He could barely make out the enormous stone figure of a cowering man with chains of iron clamped around his neck and wrists. It was the statue of a slave.

“The City of Chains.” Anders murmured. Kirkwall had been aptly named.

“Some would say that the city never shucked its chains, even when the Imperium retreated.” Nathaniel muttered. “Many of the old buildings were merely repurposed, so old slave cells became- well.”

“Let me guess, the old slave cells became the Circle.” Anders said sarcastically. “Because Kirkwall is Kirkwall and Kirkwall is the worst.”

“No.” Nathaniel said shortly, but after a moment continued. “The Circle was made out of the prison tower. They held executions in the main square.”

“Ah. So subtle.” Anders muttered, and he glared at the spike of pale stone they now approached. There was a dock, and beyond that the Circle Tower. The Gallows, Anders knew it was called, because there was no such thing as a nice name for a Circle. There were no nice Circles, only ones that weren't quite as bad. As The Dragon’s Roar skirted around the island that held the Gallows, Anders realized that they were no longer looking at a complete building.

It was a burnt out husk.

“This… does not look like it once did.” Nathaniel said quietly. “I was only a child when I came to Kirkwall with my father, but the Gallows did not look like this.” 

The pale stone was marked with soot and burn marks, and several windows were broken out so they looked like hollow eyes. Eyes that stared and stared and would always look out like that of a skull- stop it! Anders took a deep breath to still his racing mind and looked closer at the ruins, at the docks half submerged in the water, at the overgrown weeds growing in patches out of broken bits of stone. Anders felt something strange, a scratching at the back of his head, a murmur of a thousand ghosts, something that was familiar and filled Anders with dread.

“It probably didn't feel like this either.” Anders replied. “Nathaniel, it’s the Blight.” As the ship rounded past the Gallows the two Wardens caught a glimpse of bright, gem-like object glittering red in the courtyard of the Gallows, half hidden by the buildings and broken slave statues. Anders could not tell what it was supposed to be, but if he hazarded a guess he would say it looked to be the statue of a person. It was life sized, arms outstretched and screaming to the heavens.

“We should investigate further” Nathaniel decided. “I will tell the captain to stop the boat-”

“Sweet thing, I’ll be doing no such thing.” The captain said firmly. Anders turned his head to face her, surprised that the woman could sneak up on both of them. They were just distracted by the sound of the Blight, Anders told himself. Nothing more.

“We are Wardens, Captain. It is our responsibility.” Nathaniel stated. The Captain lifted an eyebrow and chuckled, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. The sun caught her jewelry, and her neck, her ears, a speck of gold at her chin, all of it glinted gold. Even her eyes were golden.

“My responsibility is to get you to Kirkwall safely. And that island? Not safe. Never was.” The Captain shuddered. “Crazy Templars, blood magic, living statues- a stormy sea is safer than that cursed plot of land.”

“Captain-” Anders piped in, ready to back up Nathaniel's request. While he wasn't eager to explore the ruins of the most notorious Circle in Thedas, Anders knew that Nathaniel had a point. They were not just diplomats securing an alliance: they were Wardens, and the Blight was their responsibility.

“Isabela, sweetling, you’ll be seeing plenty of me around Kirkwall.” Captain Isabela said with a wink. “You’ll both be back here soon enough, The Champion and Varric Tethras will need your expertise on these Blight matters.”

“Wonderful.” Anders muttered. “So we keep sailing and come back later?” He would rather simply get the investigation over and done with. Or perhaps he was looking for an excuse to delay his landing. Even submerged in the murky ocean, the slave statues had given Anders pause. How many people were enslaved in Kirkwall? How many elves, humans, dwarves, qunari? How many mages were chained in the Gallows? The weight of those lives weighed on his soul. The future will be better, Anders promised himself. We will make the future better, with no more slavery, no more chains.

“I made a promise to see you safely to Kirkwall so you can meet with the Dalish leadership in the city. The Champion is particularly interested in seeing your alliance succeed, and I owe her a few favors.” Isabela said. “So, which one of you is marrying Fenris?”

“Me.” Anders replied. “Nathaniel’s just an official escort because no one else could be spared.”

“I will have you know that Warden Commander Surana requested that I keep you in line, Anders.” Nathaniel muttered. “Velanna refuses to set foot in a ‘shemlen dump,’ Sigrun’s keeping Velanna company, Justice is not fit for the voyage, and Oghren-”

“We don’t send in Oghren when it’s a delicate diplomatic situation.” Anders interrupted. “And all the other members of the Mage Rebellion are busy getting married off or making treaties, so Nathaniel came along.”

“I also know Kirkwall better than you.” Nathaniel said. “And if you decide to run off I can chase you down.”

“I’m not about to risk an alliance the Rebellion needs. I’m getting married.” Anders retorted. “I’m not a fool, Nathaniel Howe.”

“You wouldn’t be the first bridegroom with cold feet.” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Pardon the interruption, boys. Your bickering is a lovely sound, but- Anders, was it?” Isabela asked. “Anders, do you even want to get married? Marriage is a burden, and if you’re being forced into this arrangement I can get you out of it.” Her tone was light, but the golden glimmer in Captain Isabela’s eyes suggested that she was more than ready to follow through on her offer.

“I’m doing this of my own free will.” Anders promised. “I don’t object to the marriage, or even the bridegroom.” He barely knew anything of the bridegroom. There was nothing for Anders to object to.

“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for matrimony.” Isabela said dryly.

“It’s important. We’ll get along.” Anders replied. For the sake of their alliance, Anders would make himself get along with his future husband. He gave the captain a reassuring smile.

“But if you know anything about my future husband, I’d be grateful for the information.” Anders said, trying for a bit of levity. “He’s been irritatingly close mouthed.”

“That does sound like Fenris.” Isabela laughed, and she clapped Anders’s shoulder. She had a strong arm, Anders thought, and he noted the battle scars on her skin and muscle on her frame. Captain Isabela was not a woman to be trifled with.

“He’s… stern? Keeps to himself, mostly. Pushes himself hard, fiercely loyal to Hawke, determined to give the warriors under his tutelage the best training.” Isabela explained. “Broods beautifully, like your friend here.”

“Wonderful. Another Howe.” Anders said. “Where are the Whos, Whys, and Whats?”

“Stop.” Nathaniel sighed. “Just- just stop.”

“Hawke will certainly like you, Anders.” Isabela said, approval warming her tone. “And if Hawke likes you you’ll have an easier time walking around Kirkwall, even as a mage. The Champion’s favor is quite the advantage in Kirkwall.”

“Good to know.” Anders murmured. The boat sailed past more chalky white cliffs, and the waves seemed less violent than in the open water. The city of Kirkwall loomed before them, rising out of the cliffs. Man made cliffs, Anders remembered. The city was built in a quarry. Anders stared out over the city, and he couldn't help but be filled with a sense of dread. There was something rotten in the city of Kirkwall, something dead and decayed and lurking just under the surface of this grand city. There was something wrong here.

“I’ll be in town for a few days before I set off to deliver your friend back to Amaranthine.” Isabela said. “If you ever need a message ferried back and forth, I’m your woman.” She walked away then, crossing the deck to take the wheel from her first mate. The two of them spoke to each other, but the wind carried their words away from Anders and Nathaniel. Nathaniel gazed out at the city, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth grim.

“You feel it too.” Anders whispered, turning so he could also watch the city. 

“The Blight, or the sense of unease?” Nathaniel asked.

“Both.” Anders decided. “Both.” There was the Blight, lingering inside the Gallows like a thick miasma. But the city also felt heavy and gloomy. The pale stone could not disguise the oppressive feel of the buildings crowding over them, or the empty pedestals that clearly held those old chained images of slaves. Something was wrong with this city!

At least Kirkwall was not a city of the dead, Anders thought with some relief. There were people on the docks, and Isabela shouted orders to her crew to drop the sails of the Dragon’s Roar and start rowing. There were dock workers scrambling to gather ropes to tie the ship to the dock. Anders hardly knew half of what Isabela was shouting, but the crew obviously understood. They ship was slowly hauled towards the dock, and Anders saw the woman waiting on the dock for them.

She was tall, dressed in full plate armor with an orange scarf wrapped around her neck. Her bright red hair gleamed in the sunlight, and as dock workers tied the Dragon’s Roar to the dock, Anders saw that her face was stern and proud. Her bright green eyes scanned the ship, and when they caught hold of Isabela they took on a slightly exasperated, slightly fond expression.

“Lady Manhands!” Isabela crowed. “Did Hawke send you?”

“The Champion wanted an official escort to welcome our Warden guests into the city.” The woman replied. “Something a little more dignified than a pirate wench.” The two women bickered, the guardswoman standing at the edge of the dock and Isabela leaning over the railing. Despite the traded barbs and insults, the women smiled at each other.

“Did you even deliver your passengers safely?” The woman asked. “Or did you lose them in a storm?”

“We’re safe and sound, Ma’am!” Anders shouted down to the armored woman. “Though I think my companion will be quite happy to step off this ship and reach solid ground!” Nathaniel glared at Anders and jabbed him in the ribs.

“I am well enough, thank you.” Nathaniel muttered. “Anders, do try and behave yourself.”

Anders did behave himself. He waited patiently as the crew brought down his three trunks and loaded them up in a cart pulled by a mule with a beautifully checkered coat. Anders watched as Isabela greeted the guardswoman before hopping into the back of the cart next to the trunks. The guardswoman approached Anders and Nathaniel next, and she met his eyes without having to tilt her head up to do so. Anders saw how she looked at the staff strapped to his back, how her eyes quickly flicked to his covered arms, then back to his face.

“Not every mage is a blood mage, you know.” Anders said quietly. “In case you were wondering.”

“I apologize, Warden.” The guardswoman said stiffly. “I suppose you are Warden Anders, Fenris’s intended?”

“That would be me.” Anders replied. It was more than a little disconcerting to realize that these people knew his future husband better than he did himself. He was left in the dark about his own future.

“I am Guard Captain Aveline Vallen.” The guardswoman said. “I will take you to the Viscount’s Keep, where the Champion and Viscount are holding a meeting with the Dalish leadership.”

“Dalish leadership. Have the Dalish not chosen a leader?” Nathaniel asked as he stepped up to the cart. 

“Hardly.” Isabela snorted as she lounged in the bed of the cart alongside the trunks. Aveline nudged her out of the cart. Once she was out, she urged the mule to walk forward, and the group slowly made their way through the streets. The people parted quickly, but Anders heard the whispers. Wardens! Mage! What could this mean?

It means that a change is coming, Anders thought. Someday this will no longer be a strange sight worthy of whispers. Someday I will not be an object to gawk at, but a normal citizen like any other. Someday I will belong.

“The clan leaders have gathered their firsts together in Kirkwall.” Aveline explained. “They are negotiating on behalf of their tribes. Fenris is training several of their warriors, so that when they return to their tribes they may teach their hunters in turn. Merrill, the First of Clan Sabrae, has been rather passionate about consolidating Dalish knowledge.”

“Did Hawke manage to drag her away from that blasted mirror?” Isabela asked.

“Fenris did, much to everyone’s shock.” Aveline said. “No idea what he said to her, but she’s left the cursed thing behind and has thrown herself into sharing her tribe’s knowledge with the others. Clan Lavellan’s First is eager to participate in the exchange.”

“Mirror?” Anders questioned.

“Something Kitten dug up. Dangerous magic, I say. Best left alone.” Isabela explained quickly. “Surprised Fenris managed to convince her to leave it behind.”

“They are partners, after all.” Aveline muttered.

“Partners?” Nathaniel asked, voicing the question that Anders had in his mind. “But I thought Anders and this Fenris-”

Isabela threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Merrill and Fenris? Together? Sweet thing, no!”

“Merrill is one of the Dalish leaders and Fenris’s translator.” Aveline said, her expression stern. “They work together.” But Anders only heard the word translator. Translator. Suddenly Fenris’s lack of communication made alarming sense.

“Fenris does not speak Common, does he?” Anders whispered.

“Fenris is fluent in Tevene and Qunlat, and his Common is rough but improving.” Isabela replied, her eyes gentle and sympathetic. “And Merrill translates when he needs it.” But Anders could only think that his future husband was not just a stranger, but a stranger who didn’t even speak the same language as him. How would they understand each other? How could they cooperate? How could they reach an understanding, how could they find companionship with each other, how could they ever learn to care for one another with this great barrier in their way?

It seemed an impossible task.

“Anders.” Nathaniel whispered. “All will be well. He knows some Common, and you can learn some Tevene. You can work together.”

“Reasonable Nathaniel Howe, here to save the day.” Anders croaked out, gratitude filling his heart as he let himself breathe again. Yes. He could still try. It may be difficult, but Anders could try. He would try. The fate of the Rebellion, the fate of his people, depended on it.

Anders was whisked off to a side hall once they reached the Viscount’s Keep, and then ushered to a guest chamber. His trunks were placed in the room with him, a comfortable bedroom. A large four poster bed dominated one side of the chamber, with a fireplace situated directly across from it. There was an overstuffed bench placed at the end of the bed, and someone had turned out the bedding. Everything was crisp, clean, and vaguely smelled of lavender and rosemary. Anders slowly walked around the room, taking in the cleanliness and comfort. There was a bowl of apples on a small table in front of the large bay window, and someone picked a bouquet of wildflowers and set it in a vase on his bedside table. The desk in the corner of the room had been stocked with fresh quills and parchment, ready for his use. Someone had made an extra effort to make sure he felt welcome here.

“Warden Howe, your chamber is across the way.” Aveline said shortly. “I am sure both of you will need to rest and refresh yourselves after your journey. The Champion and Viscount Tethras will meet with you, Dalish Commander Fenris, and First of Clan Sabrae Merrill for a small, private dinner.”

“You can drop the formality, Aveline.” Isabela teased. “They’ll know Hawke and Varric soon enough, and you know they don't hold with titles.”

“Maker’s Breath, Isabela, I am trying to be professional!” Aveline exclaimed, but she turned back to Anders and gave him a polite smile. “We will let you rest, Warden Anders.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Anders replied. “Thank you.” Aveline left the room, dragging Isabela behind her. Nathaniel gave Anders The Look, the “stay put until I come fetch you for dinner” look. Anders returned The Look with one of his own, the “where would I go?” look. Nathaniel grunted and left the room, hesitating for a moment at the doorway.

“If you need to talk, Anders-” Nathaniel said, and Anders shook his head.

“No, don’t worry over me, Nathaniel.” Anders said, stretching his arms over his head and faking a long, exaggerated yawn. “I will take a cat nap and be refreshed for our dinner and meeting my future husband.” Nathaniel seemed skeptical, but he didn’t protest. Giving Anders one last lingering look, he left the room and shut the door behind him. 

Anders dropped his arms to his sides and crossed the room to his trunk, kneeling before the ragged, old one. He opened the lid and reached in for his journal, ink bottle, and old quill. Yes, there were new quills, fine ink, parchment that wasn’t water stained and old, but it felt wrong to use them. Anders removed his staff and pack, setting the pack on the ground next to his trunks and leaning his staff against the wall. Anders then set the journal down on the desk, flipped through the pages, and opened to the next blank page. Once he was there, he sat down, picked up his battered quill, dipped it into his ink bottle, and began to write.

16th Day of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon Age

Dear Karl,

We have finally landed in the Free Marcher city of Kirkwall, the City of Chains. The slave statues are gone. Someone (many someones, obviously) tore the evil things down and now they rest at the bottom of the bay. May the blasted creations sleep forever down there.

Nathaniel (you remember Nathaniel, I’ve written about him before) and I sensed the Blight in the Gallows. The Gallows are empty now, a wrecked ruin where nothing but weeds live now. It was years too late, but there are no more imprisoned mages. Nathaniel said the Gallows were once a prison. I say that they never stopped being a prison. You would know. You were there.

I have yet to meet my husband, but I’ve heard a little more about him. Captain Isabela said he is stern and broods. I’ve heard that he’s devoted to his cause to unite the Dalish clans, and works hard to train the Dalish warriors. I have also learned that he does not speak Common, only Tevene and Qunlat. Though Nathaniel says I can learn his languages as my intended learns Common, I find little comfort in his words. How can I learn to get along with a man when we can’t even speak with each other? I can only speculate on who he is based on what little I know.

I know he is a warrior. I know he is an elf. I can guess, based on what languages he knows, that he is from Tevinter. I can guess, based on knowing that he is warrior, and elf, and believing that he is from Tevinter, that Fenris was once a slave. This educated hypothesis only fills my heart with dread. A former slave of Tevinter will not take kindly to having a mage as their husband. I did not think I would have to combat my own future husband in my quest to prove a mage’s worth. And I will not only have to prove myself to him, but an entire city. An entire world.

I have never felt so alone.

I wish I had a cat, Karl. Some little, furry creature that would sit on my lap and laze about in the sun and just- just be there to keep me company without expecting me to burst out in demons. But all I have is you, and you do not write back. The loneliness will be difficult to bear, but the public scrutiny will be impossible to deal with without help. And where will I find help when even my future spouse will watch my every move, waiting and expecting blood magic?

I am to meet my intended at dinner tonight. Wish me luck, Karl. I will need it.

All of my love,

Anders

Anders pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. Now that he wrote his thoughts down in his journal, he found himself inexplicably full of energy. He was in a foreign city and utterly alone. Anders knew that Nathaniel would be taking a nap, and utterly indisposed towards exploring the keep. He barely knew Captain Isabela, and Guard Captain Aveline Vallen seemed disinclined towards mischief or fun. She would not approve of him exploring the city, or even the keep. He would be stuck in his room until he was fetched for dinner, it seemed. Anders walked over to the window and opened the pane. He sat down in one of the slender legged wooden chairs and enjoyed the sea breeze. Eventually he would have to wash up and change his uniform. Eventually he would have to prepare himself to meet his future husband and begin his new life. Eventually, eventually, eventually. But for now, Anders could sit in this chair and be at peace.

Anders leaned slightly out of the window, looking out at the courtyard. There was a lovely little garden under his window, with a fountain in the center and a violent array of blossoms, bushes, and little trees bringing color to the pale stone courtyard. If he reached out his hand, Anders knew he could brush his fingers against the leaves of the hawthorn tree outside. Little birds twittered and swooped through the garden, picking at insects and splashing in the fountain. Anders watched them and smiled. Take heart, the little birds seemed to chirp. There is food to eat and water to drink, there are nests to build and skies to fly in. There is life, and where there is life there is hope. Take heart. Anders watched the birds and smiled, and when his eyes passed over a part of the garden shaded by a large lilac bush, he jerked back in surprise.

There was someone else in the garden. Someone who had been watching Anders watching the birds. He was barefoot, dusky brown feet dark against the pale stone of the courtyard. Shadow obscured his face, but Anders leaned out of the window to try and catch a better glimpse of the man, who retreated further into shadow and out of view.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Anders called out. There was no answer, and this irritated him.

“I’ve already seen you watching me, so there’s no use in pretending you haven't been spotted!” Anders declared. He hated that someone unseen had been watching him. But there was someone in the garden, a person Anders could talk to. He desperately wanted conversation.

“I’m not angry, you know. You can enjoy the garden as well, Maker knows I don't own it.” He barely owned anything, only the three trunks in the room and the staff leaning on the wall. But the man did not emerge. Anders tried a different tact.

“I’m a little lost and bored, sitting up here alone.” Anders said aloud, softening his tone and smiling again. A gentle smile, the type he used on his young patients when they came into the healing hall. Keep talking, Anders told himself, Maker knows your tongue is one of your few great talents.

“You see, I’ve come from across the sea, to marry a man I’ve never met.” Anders continued with his conversation, feeling more than a bit silly. “And while I’m certainly agreeable to the match, I am a stranger in a strange land. Some company would do me good, I think. You can stay down in the garden, and I can stay up here at my window, and we can have a pleasant chat, don’t you think?”

There was no response, but Anders saw someone- the man- shift in the shadows and slowly approach the light. Anders resumed his one sided conversation a little more eagerly now. Company other than Nathaniel’s grim observations? It was something to look forward to.

“Now, I know absolutely nothing about my future husband, and I don’t want to gossip. So I’ll just ask you to tell me all about Kirkwall. Unless you’re new here yourself. It would be like the blind leading the blind in that case!” Anders chuckled, and there was a response. It was a man’s laugh, low and powerful and surprisingly soft given its depth and power. The sound sent ripples down Anders’s spine- he had always had a weakness for a powerful voice.

“Well, it’s good to know I amuse you.” Anders murmured. “Won’t you come out? It is difficult to speak with a shadow in the garden.” There was a shift in the shadows, and man stepped out into the sunlight, and Anders’s breath caught in his throat.

The man was beautiful.

He was an elf, Anders saw, though taller than any elf Anders had ever met. He was muscled, strong and lean and powerful. His skin was dark, and covered in white markings- tattoos, perhaps? Anders could not tell. The elf’s hair was pale, long, and tied back in a loose tail. He had strong features, a stubborn chin and aquiline profile. His eyebrows were thick and dark, and they framed a remarkable pair of eyes. They were green flecked with gold, Anders realized, and they seemed to stare right through him. Anders’s cheeks and neck grew hot as the elf gazed up at him, took his measure, analyzed Anders like Anders had analyzed him.

But then the elf smiled. It was a slow, lazy smile, as content as a cat that had gotten the cream. It was a sort of private smile shared between friends. Or lovers, Anders thought as his face flushed. The elf stepped forward again until he was next to the fountain. He leaned against the lip of the stone basin and stared up at Anders, clearly expecting him to talk.

“I- well.” Anders licked his lips and cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Ah, hello. I don’t feel nearly so foolish, talking to a person instead of the air.” The elf inclined his head, as if encouraging Anders to continue speaking. So he did.

“It’s lovely weather, isn’t it? A bit warmer than where I’m from. It’s almost autumn and the weather feels like high summer.” Anders said. “Is it warm, where you’re from?”

The elf only shrugged.

“I can’t really discern if that’s a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ I’ll just assume maybe.” Anders decided. “So, do you like the city? I’ve only been here for a few hours at the most, and I haven’t seen much. I won’t even be here for longer than a month, I believe.” The elf smiled again, almost like he was indulging Anders’s desire for conversation. Having a handsome man listen to your every word was hardly a hardship, Anders thought. It was rather flattering!

“I’m dominating this conversation, aren’t I?” Anders asked. “I’m sorry, that’s rather rude of me. My name is Anders. What’s yours?”

“Fenris?” A woman’s light voice called out into the courtyard. “Fenris?” The bird like voice twittered something in a language that sounded soft on the tongue and as foreign to Anders as the stars. The elf below him kept his eyes fixed on Anders, but he spoke in that unknown language, obviously addressing the unseen woman. His voice was deeper, richer, rougher, and his words sounded different from the woman’s. Harsher, Anders thought, with a harder inflection.

“Fenris!” The woman gasped. There were more words, but Anders could hardly hear them because his mind was reeling as he realized that this elf, this handsome elf who managed to charm him into babbling like a spring brook without saying a word, was his future husband. This was the Commander of the Dalish Armies. This was Fenris.

Maker preserve me, Anders thought as the sunlight gleamed on Fenris’s pale hair, I didn’t expect him to be handsome!

Fenris said something else, something sharp that ended the conversation, and he turned his back to Anders to leave the courtyard. But before he disappeared into the shadows of the trees, he turned back around to face Anders. He seemed to be waiting for something. Anders hesitantly raised his hand and waved.

“Ah, goodbye, Fenris.” Anders called out. Fenris smiled, returned the gesture, and retreated into the shadows and, presumably, the building beyond. Anders pulled himself back into the room and slumped in his chair. Fenris. That was Fenris.

Maker help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter two! I hope everyone enjoyed it, it was fun to write (also I may have been unable to sleep until I got it written down).
> 
> This chapter's research adventures included trying to figure out Kirkwall's climate so I could find plants that would be appropriate for the garden, possible garden designs for small courtyard spaces, and the terminology used for sailing ships.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! See you next chapter!


	3. Almond Crusted Trout and Cats

Fenris’s head ached. Drinking that bottle of wine so late the evening before had been a poor decision, but Hawke had insisted on a feast with the nobility and the Dalish. Merrill said it was a chance to foster cooperation between two disparate groups, but Fenris believed it was Hawke’s excuse to throw a small celebration after successfully negotiating hunting grounds in Sundermount for the citizens of Kirkwall and farm plots surrounding Kirkwall for the Dalish clans. It involved far more shouting than Fenris believed necessary, and Hawke had encouraged him into excess celebration with the bottle of wine. Fenris could barely maintain his composure through the meetings that stretched from the morning bells to sunset.

Today's meetings involved rebuilding the parts of the city destroyed by Meredith’s attempted coup when she invoked the Right of Annulment and systematically began her purge of the Gallows. Fortunately for many of the mages on that island, Meredith began her coup within the Chantry. With the Grand Cleric dead (the reports on her death varied, from her being sacrificed by a rogue blood mage no one had managed to find to Meredith murdering the woman herself), Meredith tried to cleanse the Gallows. Tried and failed, Fenris thought with a satisfaction that always surprised him. 

Perhaps Fenris did not approve of Meredith because her solution to every problem she encountered was to expand her own power. Perhaps he disliked her because her avarice reminded Fenris of Tevinter. Perhaps Fenris could never follow Meredith Stannard’s logic. If the cases of blood magic in Kirkwall occurred outside of the Gallows, it made little sense to punish the mages within the Gallows. It smelled of the reasoning magisters used with their slaves: Punish what is close at hand instead of what you cannot reach.

It was most likely a combination of all these things and more, but Fenris found he did not mourn the death of Knight Commander Meredith Stannard. He would look at the Gallows and the strange rock formation that glimmered like a ruby and whispered to his blood and Fenris could only be glad that the woman was gone. But now all of Kirkwall, all of Thedas, had to deal with the aftermath of Meredith Stannard.

Champion Marian Hawke, warrior without peer and a force to be reckoned with, had been offered the position of Viscount of Kirkwall. She refused, naturally, and supported Varric Tethras. Varric, merchant prince, author, and likeable rogue, had tried to refuse. Aveline Vallen and Marian Hawke forced him to take the iron crown.

“Don’t envy my position, Elf.” Varric had warned him after his official swearing in ceremony. “Something about me just attracts women who want to bash my head in.”

“It’s because you're an insufferable sneak!” Marian shouted, and that seemed to end the conversation. Yet it did not end the endless meetings that they were all required to attend, the endless meetings to rebuild all of Kirkwall. Varric Tethras had many ideas, and Marian Hawke had many plans as well. With the near destruction of Kirkwall and the chaos Meredith created, the general populace looked more favorably on mages as a whole. Mages didn't bring an army of Qunari down upon the city (the Chantry’s covert violence and former Viscount’s inaction did that). Mages in the Gallows did not cast blood magic in the city (that was due to the mages Meredith Stannard and her Templars never bothered to seek out). Mages never tore down the Chantry and tried to invade the city. Meredith Stannard, a Templar who was praised for her devotion and zeal, was the one who nearly destroyed them all. All things considered, Kirkwall’s citizens were willing to give mages in general a chance. There was little trust to be had, but it was more trust than they had in the Templar Order who had so utterly failed to protect them.

Fenris had little faith in mages. Merrill had proven herself a capable First, and the Dalish saw magic differently than the magisters of Tevinter or the natives of Seheron. Magic was a part of life, but it did not make one better than non-mages. Magic gave mages another responsibility. Merrill was brought to Clan Sabrae to bolster their population and train as their First, their successor. She would hold their knowledge as their future Keeper, and Merrill took her responsibilities seriously. She also took looking after Fenris and teaching him the Dalish ways just as seriously. Too seriously. Fenris was often subjected to rambling conversations in which Merrill tried to explain the importance of magic, the elvhen pantheon, and why Fenris should reject all human culture to embrace the Dalish ways.

Fenris had escaped her lecturing when he had gone to the garden. He meant to find a peaceful moment for himself out in the small courtyard. Instead he found something else entirely. Fenris smoothed down his tunic, a new one Aveline had thrust at him and insisted he wear with much frowning and a hasty translation from Merrill.

“Aveline says that it is best to look your best and not wear your armor to this dinner.” Merrill hastily explained as Fenris examined the dark green silk garment. “It may be a private meal, but you are meeting your future husband.”

He kept silent, certain that he would crush Merrill’s cheery mood if he told her that he had already seen his future husband in the garden. They had spoken to each other. Perhaps that was not the proper term, Fenris thought as he fastened the silver clasps on the tunic and took a wooden comb to his hair. Anders did not converse with him so much as speak at him, and Fenris hardly understood a word.

Anders. That was the name of his husband to be. He sat at the window and looked out wistfully into the garden, golden eyes shaded and golden hair blowing in the breeze. His narrow face was a mess of angles and planes, and he had the beginnings of a beard shading his cheeks and chin. His nose was long and pointed, and some might call it an unattractive feature in the landscape of his face. Fenris found it charming, just like the freckles that dotted the man’s face. His husband to be was dressed as a warrior in his Warden blue and silver, but his sorrowful expression and golden hair seemed more akin to a princess trapped in a tower than a fierce Warden or a bloodthirsty mage. It was hard to believe that a man who owned such a gentle voice and a bright laugh could call lightning and fire at his fingertips. A Mage is always dangerous, Fenris told himself, and they must prove themselves to be worthy of trust.

But when Anders had smiled and spoken to him like a friend, not a slave or servant but an equal, Fenris felt- he felt something.

“It is foolishness.” Fenris told himself. “You are here to form an alliance. You will not sigh over your future husband.” And he would not fear his future spouse either, Fenris promised. No Mage would ever hold that power over him again. Fenris smoothed out the silk tunic one last time and took a look at his reflection in a silver mirror.

He was clean and presentable. Not handsome, of course. Danarius has taken care of that many years ago when he had marked Fenris with lyrium. No one could ever call Fenris handsome, not with his collection of scars and his harsh features. But he was presentable. His white hair, as rough as it was, was tied back from his face in a thick braid. His nails were trimmed and clean, and he had taken the time to buff them as well. His doeskin leggings were dyed dark brown, and he wore thin-soled boots for the occasion. He preferred to go barefooted, but Aveline had insisted on shoes. At least Merrill said Aveline insisted, and as Merrill was forced to wear shoes Fenris was certain Merrill had translated truthfully. Merrill was mostly honest in her translations, though Fenris had caught her softening his words to avoid ruffling feathers and piercing over-inflated egos.

How would Merrill translate his words to his future husband, Fenris wondered as he inspected his reflection. Would she remain formal? Would she make his words gentle and more pleasing to the ear? Would she try to explain his past to his bridegroom? Would she make Fenris a more palatable prospect to Anders? Fenris did not think there was much Merrill could say to recommend him, but she would try. And he made the man blush. Fenris thought of the way Anders’s cheeks turned red, how he continued to speak even as he grew more and more flustered. Fenris enjoyed that he could make the man flustered. The Mage. Fenris had power here, and it gave him some comfort. This would not be like his time in Tevinter. It would be different. Hopefully better. Fenris left Tevinter and ran from the slavery of magisters and magic. He would not so easily subject himself to that enslavement again.

A light knock on his door drew Fenris out of his musings. It was Merrill, Fenris was certain, and she had come to escort him to dinner. She had come to introduce him to his husband. Fenris steeled his nerves and turned to face his future.

He was ready.

-

Anders had two robes laid out on the bed. He had washed his hair and body with water from a pitcher and scrubbed down with soap. His hosts had supplied a small collection of fine soaps with a variety of scents: rose, jasmine, orange blossom, rosemary, lavender… Anders felt some guilt as he poured over the selection. He had plain soap in his chest, he shouldn’t be wasting soap. Especially when the soap was so high quality and he was nothing more than a guest in Kirkwall. But he was going to officially meet his husband for the first time, so Anders picked up the lavender scented soap and scrubbed down. He let his hair dry in the breeze, unpacked his two robes, and lay both of them out on the bed. Now here he was, staring at two robes and trying to decide which one was the most appropriate for dinner.

One of the robes was the new one Evelyn and Surana had purchased for him. It was black velvet and gold silk, elaborately embroidered with vines and little suns. Anders brushed his fingers against the fabric and shuddered. There was once a time where Anders would have gleefully worn these robes and strutted around in all his finery. But after the Blight and joining the Mage Rebellion, Anders could not see the silk and velvet as fine feathers. He saw bushels of wheat and casks of ale, carts full of fabric and heads of sheep and cattle. Anders found it hard to justify frippery when the gold used for cloth and finery could be used for the Rebellion. The robes may be a gift, but they did not feel like Anders’s. Not really.

But the other outfit laid out on the bed was his Warden armor, a clean spare surcoat, clean breeches, and polished metal and waxed leather armor fashioned in the winged gryphon pauldron that went over his left shoulder. It was clean, it was formal, but most importantly the Warden armor was his. Anders felt far more comfortable with the idea of wearing what was his when his life was going to change so drastically. Anders did not particularly feel like a wealthy mage (which his new robes suggested he was). He would always feel like a Warden, though. Always.

“Might as well let everyone remember that I’m a Warden as well as a mage.” Anders muttered, and he pulled on his Warden gear. He smoothed down the thick fabric, a silk backed with heavy canvas. The rich blue and bright silver made his hair look all the more golden. Anders looked at himself in a small mirror and frowned when he noted the dark circles under his eyes. He had not slept well on the ship, and he certainly hadn’t tried to take a nap. He was too excited to sleep after his encounter with Fenris.

Fenris. His future husband. No one should look that handsome. No one should be that magnetic without uttering a word. And those eyes! There was an entire history behind those eyes, and Anders was soon going to share in that history. 

As he was adjusting one of the steel buckles Nathaniel entered his bedchamber, dressed in Warden armor and frowning as usual.

“You have finer clothing. Shouldn’t you be making a better first impression, Anders?” Nathaniel asked. He didn’t mean to look haughty, Anders thought, but something about Nathaniel Howe’s features and bearing always suggested that he was looking down on you.

“I’m a Warden, Nathaniel. I’ll always be a Warden.” Anders replied. “No one should forget that.” Nathaniel seemed to accept Anders’s reasoning, and gestured towards the door.

“Ready to meet your husband, Anders?” Nathaniel asked. Anders thought of the elf in the garden, his low chuckle and wry smile and those beautiful green eyes. He straightened his shoulders.

“More than ready, Nathaniel.” Anders replied, and he walked forward into the future.

Aveline was waiting for them down the hall, along with Isabela and another woman. This newcomer was tall and muscular, with dark hair unevenly cut in a short bob around her chin. Her eyes were an icy blue, but they were bright and lively instead of frigid and distant. The mystery woman caught sight of Nathaniel and Anders and waved before raising her voice to address them.

“Which one of you is Fenris’s new man?” She shouted. Her voice was strong, and it echoed through the stone and plaster hall. Aveline frowned at the woman, but she ignored the glare and approached Anders and Nathaniel.

“Let’s see… no weapons, so I can’t guess who has the magic- ah! Hands!” The woman grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and inspected it.

“Callouses on the fingers, common with use of a bow- longbow?” The woman guessed. “You’ve trained for years, these have built up over some time. You must be good.”

“Yes.” Nathaniel said gruffly, pulling his hand back to his side. The woman had already turned her attention to Anders, and he couldn’t help but feel a little wary at the woman’s curious gaze and bright smile. It wasn’t unfriendly, but the attention was a little overwhelming.

“Then you’re Anders.” The woman announced. “Tall, a bit too skinny-”

“Excuse me?” Anders couldn’t even be affronted by the woman’s harsh assessment of his form. He was skinny. Wardens didn’t exactly gain weight. The exercise and the Blight tended to keep them trim, and Wardens were nearly skeletal during lean times. But the woman moved on from analyzing his body to staring and judging his face.

“Pretty eyes. I think Merrill said that Fenris likes pretty eyes in a face.” She declared. Seemingly satisfied, she stepped back from Anders.

“I said that, Hawke. No one knows what Fenris likes. He’s an enigma.” Isabela called out. “But he’s bound to appreciate a pair of pretty eyes, he certainly possesses some gorgeous gems of eyes.”

Anders thought of the green and gold, eyes that knew too much and saw even more. Eyes that Anders knew he would get lost in if he held Fenris’s gaze. There was power there in Fenris’s eyes, and Anders was drawn to it. Fenris was someone who had complete control of himself, a person who was at ease with his person and knew who he was and what he was about. Fenris had the eyes of a leader. He looked like he could take charge of any situation, and Anders knew that he was always a little bit partial to men who had a take charge attitude.

“Anders, this is Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and local nuisance.” Aveline Vallen announced, cracking a smile. She gave the woman a fond look, and Marian Hawke stuck out her tongue.

“Varric’s just ahead, waiting with Fenris and Merrill.” Hawke said. “We’ll escort you handsome gentlemen to the table, won’t we Isabela?”

“Shame we have to let go of them, don’t you think?” Isabela said archly as they walked down the hall. “We could use two handsome Wardens in Kirkwall. Think Ferelden’s Warden Commander will relinquish them for a little while?”

“No.” Nathaniel Howe replied crisply. “She will not.”

“Commander Surana wants us to negotiate a treaty to explore the Deep Roads around Kirkwall as well.” Anders said hastily. “But we can speak of that on a later date.” Hawke opened a large door made of dark wood and gestured for Anders and Nathaniel to enter the room.

The room felt large and airy, Anders thought as he looked around. The wooden beams that supported the structure were dark with age and smoke, but they jointed together high up in the ceiling. The plaster in the room was fresh and white, and the walls were covered in rich tapestries. A fire roared in an enormous fireplace across the hall, and the stone floor was carpeted with red wool rugs with bold geometric designs woven into them in cream and black wool. The most arresting feature in the room was the wall of windows facing south west and looked out of the city of Kirkwall and, beyond that, the Waking Sea. Anders only saw the view for a moment, because his gaze was drawn to the three figures standing at the window. To be more precise, his eyes rested on one person out of the three. 

Fenris wore green. His hair was braided back from his face, and his profile was backlit by the evening sun setting over the ocean. When he turned to look at the arriving guests, his green, green eyes rested on Anders and they stayed. Anders was barely aware of his surroundings. All he could see was green and gold.

“Varric, I brought them!” Hawke shouted. “Are you planning to feed us now?”

“I think we better introduce a few people before we even think of eating, Hawke.” A man’s voice replied, and he sounded like he was holding back his laughter. Anders couldn’t pull his eyes away from Fenris, from those eyes, from that shy smile that was little more than a small upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth. Fenris stepped forward, away from the window and towards Anders.

“Andaran atish’an.” He said softly, and though it seemed that Fenris addressed the group, his eyes remained fixated on Anders. Anders hardly knew what to say, but he felt like he had to say something.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Anders replied. Nathaniel nudged his elbow into Anders’s rib, a gentle jostling that was so subtle that Anders doubted anyone noticed it. No one but Fenris, Anders realized when the elf’s eyebrows furrowed and his gaze turned to Nathaniel with something that looked like faint disapproval in his expression. At least it seemed like disapproval. Perhaps Anders was reading too much into Fenris’s actions. It wouldn’t be the first time he misinterpreted someone’s behavior.

“Andaran atish’an, Wardens.” A young woman said brightly, and Anders pulled himself out of his thoughts. A young elf stood by Fenris’s side, her short dark hair gleaming in the light of the setting sun. She was pale and small, and her eyes were large and green. A different green than Fenris’s, Anders noted. Where Fenris was a golden green like the sun filtering through summer oak leaves, the woman’s eyes were a misty pale green, like lichen. Her face was marked with tattoos, much like Fenris’s, but hers were dark instead of Fenris’s pale marks along his chin and neck.

“It means welcome. In truth, it means ‘Enter this place in peace.’ It’s quite formal.” The woman explained brightly. “We wish to show you both all our respect for honoring us with your presence.” Her voice was familiar to Anders, swooping and bright and musical.

“We are honored to accept the invitation.” Nathaniel said smoothly. “I am Warden Howe, and this is Warden Anders, who represents the Mage Rebellion.”

“They’ve got to come up with a new title for their organization.” Hawke muttered behind them. “A Mage Rebellion is an act, not a group!”

“Welcome, Warden Anders!” The woman exclaimed. “I am Merrill, First of Clan Sabrae, and this is Fenris, Sabrae’s War Commander.” Merrill turned her head and murmured something to Fenris, which Anders assumed was her translating the conversation that had just occurred between her and Nathaniel.

“I am glad to meet you in the flesh, Fenris.” Anders said, addressing Fenris. Merrill translated, her voice lilting and light, and, after a moment, Fenris replied. His voice was as low and grave as Anders remembered, but there seemed to be a bit of levity in the way he spoke. Perhaps Anders imagined it, but he could have sworn Fenris was smiling again.

“Oh, um-” Merrill blushed, her pale face now flushed like a ripe peach, and she clamped her lips shut. Fenris said something else to the woman, something short that sounded slightly exasperated and fond all at once, and gestured towards a large table further into the room. The table was covered in thick glass goblets and fine silverware and china, and the smell of hot food drifted towards them.

“Fenris does not want to draw out introductions, and would prefer we eat dinner and socialize there.” Merrill said quickly, and they were escorted to the table and sat down at the seats provided. Fenris sat down at Anders’s left, closer to the head of the table, and Merrill sat on his left. Shame, Anders thought. He had wanted to ask her what Fenris had said to make her blush so brightly.

It was service a la Orlesian this evening, Anders observed, and he couldn’t help but be a little grateful for the little bit of extra privacy that came with serving a meal for yourself instead of being waited on by servants. Yes, he was formally meeting Fenris before several people, but at least there was an illusion of privacy. They would have one meal where they wouldn’t be the objects of servant gossip. So Anders nibbled on the appetizer (dates stuffed with tangy goat cheese wrapped in thin slices of salted pork belly and roasted) and tried to behave in a proper manner. Be yourself, Anders thought, but be your best self. Don’t cause an international incident, appeal to your future husband, and be charming. Perhaps he shouldn’t be himself, Anders thought glumly. He was bound to fuck it all up. Best pretend to be like Nathaniel, who knew how nobles worked. If he kept the act up long enough he might be able to fool everyone into thinking he was a proper sort of gentleman.

This would be much easier if he could speak to his future husband, but Fenris had not breathed a word. The others spoke, and Anders could feel them staring expectantly at him, at Fenris, waiting with baited breath for something to happen. But nothing was going to happen, Anders was quite certain of it. He and Fenris would sit at this dinner in awkward silence while the rest of the table made small talk and ate roasted vegetables and quail cooked with sage butter and red wine. There was a potato and leek soup at the table, which surprised Anders. It was good, hearty country food, the sort that he never had when he was in the Circle. Someone in the kitchen had gotten creative. None of the dishes fit a particular theme, but somehow the mismatch of flavors and styles made the meal all the more interesting.

“Anders, I understand that you are a spirit healer?” Aveline said, drawing Anders into the conversation. “What sort of responsibilities did you have with the Wardens?”

“Mostly fighting Darkspawn and keeping my fellow Wardens alive.” Anders replied, resisting the urge to say something sarcastic. “When we aren’t tracking down Broodmothers and stopping the Blight I work in the healing wards in Amaranthine.”

“A healer’s ward?” Hawke asked. “What’s that?”

“The Warden Commander has opened up a trial Mage run clinic in the city.” Nathaniel explained. “Anders runs it. Ran it.“

“Velanna’s running it now. She takes it seriously enough, especially with Sigrun keeping her in check.” Anders replied absently. He noticed that Fenris had not touched the fish on his plate, an almond crusted trout. He was pushing the fillet around the plate with his fork and listening to Merrill softly translate the conversation.

“I’m surprised Velanna agreed to treat anyone.” Nathaniel replied.

“She was agreeable when I pointed out that most of our patients were elves who came to Amaranthine for refuge after the Blight. The Ferelden nobles certainly weren’t of any help.” Anders retorted, and he felt the familiar irritation and frustration bleed into his tone. It wasn’t Nathaniel Howe’s fault that Fereldens were so suspicious of elves. It wasn’t his fault that the nobility was so concerned with consolidating their power that they couldn’t bother to care for the poor and downtrodden in their midst. It wasn’t Nathaniel’s fault. It was just- it just happened. It was simply life, and life could be cruel.

“Mages, elves, Wardens- is Amaranthine a hideout for anyone in need?” Varric Tethras asked, his cheerful manner redirecting the conversation into a more lighthearted tone.

“Warden Commander Surana has a… generous heart.” Nathaniel said hesitantly.

“You would know best, Nathaniel. You did try to kill her once.” Anders joked.

“All my friends have tried to kill me at least once!” Hawke said with a laugh. “Fenris here has tried at least several times in our practice bouts.”

Fenris shot off a short phrase in the Dalish tongue that sounded like an insult. It wasn’t the words but the delivery that made it sound that way, but Anders wondered what sort of social put down Fenris had just said. He looked at Merrill expectantly, and she sighed before translating.

“He says that if you weren’t so lazy, he would not have to nearly behead you to get you to move your feet.” Merrill recited, and when Fenris added another sentence Merrill leaned over the table to meet Anders’s gaze.

“Fenris also wants to know more about these mage clinics, Anders. Would you mind talking about them, they sound quite interesting!” Merrill said enthusiastically, and Anders swore he could feel Fenris’s bright green gaze burning into the side of his face.

“I, ah- well. They’re based on the Circle system. Mages with the interest and talent are trained as healers as well as warriors in the Circle. Then we just languish, healing Templars and the few nobles and Chantry clergy who are privy to special treatment by spirit healers and magic. We have centuries of medical research at our fingertips, and the Chantry was too selfish to share it with the rest of the world-”

“Anders.” Nathaniel muttered, already expecting the rant that he must have heard at least a dozen times already. Anders decided to show his friend some mercy, a small thank you for him taking Anders’s ‘Nathaniel tried to murder Surana’ joke with grace.

“That is a conversation for another day, I suppose.” Anders said. “Regardless, I trained as a spirit healer. When I joined the Wardens, then the Rebellion, I thought to implement the Circle healing system on a scale that is more open. We can save more lives, help those who truly need help. I won’t be healing rich old men with gout but helping the poor survive and be strong and healthy.”

“And blood magic? You don’t worry about demon encounters in the general population?” Aveline asked, and she sounded like she disapproved. Anders tried not to let it affect him, but he could feel his hackles rise. Friendly, he told himself. Be friendly and deflect.

“A friend of mine has done extensive research on the subject. Did you know that the Avaar have a fascinating social system in which mage members of their society are perfectly integrated into their tribes?” Anders said brightly. “And spirit healers can’t perform blood magic. Mixes up the spirits and devours the mage right up. So you needn’t worry about me summoning demons, Captain Vallen.”

 

There was silence for a moment, and then Fenris said something.

“Fenris says he’s never met a spirit healer. He doesn’t expect that they would have been common in Tevinter.” Merrill said, her voice gentle.

“No, I don’t think they would be.” Anders said softly. “Though I wouldn’t know for certain.” Tevinter! Fenris was from Tevinter? Anders’s concerns that he and his future husband would have trouble communicating only increased. Finding common ground and mutual respect seemed a distant hope. Anders would be lucky if he kept his head on their wedding night! Fenris said something else, and returned to pushing around the fish on his plate. Was some of it missing? Yes, Anders was certain of it. Part of the fillet was missing, but Fenris hadn’t eaten it.

“Fenris wants to know if you will continue your work as a healer once you join us in Kirkwall and in Sundermount.” Merrill added.

“I hope to. It is a sort of calling, I suppose.” Anders mused. “Healing is a part of me, as much as magic is. I can’t deny it. I would hate to abandon healing when I know I can do something to help others.” Being a healer was the one gift his magic had given him. Healing taught him that he wasn’t cursed or evil or any kind of wicked. He had power, and he could use that power for good. Anders was loathe to give up the greatest gift he had. Fenris murmured something softly, his eyes looking at Anders while he spoke.

“He hopes you will find a way to continue your work.” Merrill said, and she seemed to be surprised. “It is clear that you care about what you do.”

“Thank you. I will try.” Anders promised, meeting Fenris’s gaze. The rest of the table descended into conversation, and Anders and Fenris continued to look at each other. Anders quickly looked at Fenris’s plate and- more of the fish was missing. Yet Fenris wasn’t eating it.

Fenris raised his eyebrow, and he was smiling again. The expression suggested that he was both amused and puzzled by Anders and his gaze. Fenris looked down to his plate, then down to his feet, and Anders followed his gaze down to a spot under the table.

A small brown and white cat sat at Fenris’s feet, and she was contentedly lapping up half of the fish from Fenris’s plate. Anders looked to Fenris who merely smiled, slipped a little more fish into the pouch he made with his cloth napkin, and carefully deposited it in front of the cat. She chewed on the fish, and Fenris folded up his napkin and placed it on his lap as if he had done nothing. Anders gaped as Fenris smiled at him and then- shockingly- winked at him. Anders felt his cheeks flush, and he quietly reached over the table to take another roll of white bread. The crust crackled as he broke it open and slathered the soft insides with butter. Fenris appeared utterly engaged in the conversation at the table as Merrill translated for him, but Anders saw him slyly slip little bits of fish to the cat at his feet.

Anders may have been a little wary of his future husband, but the man had a beautiful smile, a dry sense of humor, and he fed cats from the table. It was charming! When Fenris looked at him, Anders grinned like a fool. Dessert was a pear tart served with a sweet white wine, and Anders could hardly remember the conversation. He could, however, wax eloquently on Fenris’s aquiline profile and the almost delicate way he ate the tart: tiny bites, the sugared slices of pear and golden crust barely touching his lips.

He was beautiful, and Anders couldn’t believe he would soon marry this man.

After dinner there was more conversation, and it was clear that the other dinner guests were trying to provide an opportunity for private conversation between Anders and Fenris. Isabela and Hawke dragged Nathaniel off to speak with Varric about some matter, Aveline said she had to leave and return home to her husband, and Merrill, after murmuring something to Fenris, flounced off after Isabela and Hawke to the other side of the room. Anders and Fenris stood by the window, watching the sun set over the ocean.

“So… you like cats?” Anders asked. Fenris merely tilted his head to the side and gave him that small half smile. Anders sat down on the padded bench under the window and, after a moment’s hesitation, Fenris joined him. They faced each other, their backs to the window. The sun was still warm on Anders’s face.

“I adore cats, you see.” Anders continued to talk, mostly to fill the silence. “Growing up, cats were my constant companions. I think it could be something we can bond over, getting a cat. Naming it. Letting it make a mess of our things. Maker, you probably think I’m an idiot already, you don’t understand a word I’m saying and I’m talking like a fool.” Anders sighed. He was probably just confusing his future husband with his rambling, disjointed conversation in a language Fenris didn’t even understand.

“I am sorry, I tend to babble when I’m nervous.” Anders said quietly. “I always got in trouble for that when I was young.”

Fenris replied in the Dalish tongue, and while Anders didn’t understand most of it, he did catch his name. More importantly, he understood the tone of Fenris’s words. He was calm. Reassuring. And he said Anders’s names with a sort of warmth and amusement that put him at ease.

“I am a bit ridiculous, aren’t I? You will doubtlessly have endless fun teasing me.” Anders said with a laugh, and when Fenris smiled Anders smiled back. Anders continued to talk about inconsequential things: the differences in the weather, the voyage across the ocean, his room back in Amaranthine, all the cats he ever took care of. Fenris listened, his eyes fixed on Anders’s face, and Anders blushed at all the attention. Every once in awhile Fenris would murmur a response in Dalish, and Anders would eagerly soak up the words, even if he didn’t understand the meaning. It was easy enough to understand the intent based on tone and body language. Fenris spoke softly, and he tilted his head and body towards Anders as they spoke. Anders couldn’t help but feel that Fenris wanted to know him, wanted to understand him, wanted to make their future marriage and the alliance between their people work.

Anders could work with Fenris. Even with all the obstacles in their way, if Fenris was willing to step towards him, Anders was willing to do the same.

Soon it was night, and when they all departed to their beds for sleep, Fenris escorted Anders to his room. They stopped in front of the door. Anders had not realized that Fenris was only slightly shorter than he was. Fenris seemed so powerful. The way he walked was so fluid, like a cat on the prowl, and his manner was so removed and even a little high and mighty. Merrill’s translation of Fenris’s words only served to strengthen Anders’s impression. Fenris was like a cat, who walked where he pleased and when he pleased.

It was a good thing that Anders liked cats.

“I had a lovely evening, Fenris.” Anders murmured. “Thank you for keeping me company, even though I’m a chatterbox.” Anders’s fingers found the edge of his surcoat and began to twist at the silk and canvas, a habit ingrained in him ever since he was a boy. Don’t panic, he told himself. You did fine at dinner, Fenris still seems interested, you won’t fail the Mage Rebellion tonight, you did well. But the dread still lurked in the pit of his stomach. The fear that he would stumble and make a fool of himself still lingered.

“Ha’ma’in-al, Anders.” Fenris said firmly, and he reached a hand out and covered Anders’s fingers. His touch was solid and warm, strong without hurting, and Anders oddly found himself relaxing.

“I think we can get along well with each other, Fenris.” Anders said. “If you are willing to try, so am I.” Fenris merely squeezed his hand and smiled before taking a step back.

“On nydha, Anders.” Fenris said, and it sounded like a goodbye.

“Own.. oun…” Anders stumbled over the pronunciation, but did what he could. “On nydha, Fenris. Good night.”

“Good night, Anders.” Fenris repeated. His accent was strong, but the words were clear. Anders watched Fenris leave, the rising moon gleaming on his pale hair, and he couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. They spoke and understood each other! Anders returned to his room, pleased and restless all at once. He paced in front of the fireplace, tossed himself on the bed, flung himself up and resumed pacing. But the energy would not leave his body. He would not find rest this way. Anders sat down at the desk, his body heavily thudding into the wooden chair. He grabbed his journal, opened his ink bottle, sharpened his battered quill, and began to write.

16th Day of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon Age

Dearest Karl,

I finally met my future husband in a formal setting. I saw him earlier in the garden below my window, and- well, I can’t help but feel confused and overwhelmed and hopeful all at once. I dreaded the future, I feared the loneliness that I was certain I would endure, but all I can feel is a strange sort of giddy lightness in my heart, and the hope that the future, my future, will not be a bleak one.

Where should I start? The beginning is best, I suppose. I arrived in Kirkwall and wrote to you. I was feeling restless, and thought I would breathe in some fresh air before washing up for dinner. I opened up a window and sat down so I could enjoy the breeze and the flowers from the garden when I spotted someone else down there watching me. When I called out he emerged from the shadows of the trees, a tall elf with pale hair and markings on his face. And when our eyes met, Karl- he has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Green and gold and utterly glorious.

So I babbled like an idiot (you know how I am when I’m flustered) and this elf sits patiently on the ledge of the garden fountain and listens, smiling as if he’s indulging me by listening to my words. I confess, I was more than a little flattered. He is very handsome, and it was rather romantic eve  
n if I killed the mood by prattling on like a little fool. Finally someone calls out for him, and I hear them calling for Fenris. My future husband, the leader of the Dalish forces, that Fenris. As soon as I realize that I’ve been a complete flirt and haven’t treated my betrothed with the absolute pinnacle of respect and decorum, I of course apologize and-  
Well, I could never pull a fast one on you, Karl, and I’m not about to start now. I gaped open mouthed like a freshly caught fish and Fenris smiled, waved, and said something in his native tongue that I’m sure was a sarcastic quip. He apparently has a dry sense of humor, if Merrill’s translations are to be trusted.

I got ready for dinner in a daze, and when Nathaniel escorted me down we met up with some more of Kirkwall’s illustrious personages: Captain Isabela (whom I’ve already written about), Guard Captain Aveline Vallen (who escorted us to the Viscount’s Keep), and the Champion of Kirkwall, Marian Hawke. She’s a bit of an odd one, rather forceful and blunt, but also whimsical by turns. I rather enjoyed her frank, open manner. Nathaniel certainly did not. 

Later we met Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall, and Merrill, First of Clan Sabrae. Varric is rather good humored and seems to dislike the formality of his office. Even the dinner, as fine as it was, was a strange combination of formal and informal, of finery and simple country fare. Merrill was charming and easy to talk to, but my attention was mostly occupied with Fenris.

He seemed interested in my ideas about building clinics, though I only vaguely brought it up. He asked about spirit healing, and said he had never met a spirit healer in Tevinter. I did not know Fenris came from Tevinter, but it makes me wary even though he seems interested in magic and interested in me. I will try to exercise caution, though I find myself drawn to Fenris. You know better than anyone how reckless I can be, Karl, but I will try to be careful.

On a lighter note, Fenris gave all of his fillet of almond crusted trout to a cat. He snuck it to the cat in his napkin when he thought no one was looking, and when he realized I had spotted him he gave me a cheeky grin as if he were a misbehaving child! He had appeared so stern and elegant, so otherworldly before, but that little act of naughtiness put me at ease. Also, he likes cats. There’s some common ground between us already!

Writing this down has eased my mind considerably. I will write tomorrow, as always. I do hope to hear from the other mages soon. Surana will be preparing for her wedding to Alistair, and Evelyn- Maker help the poor girl, getting shipped off to Haven to marry Cullen. He may look like a saint, but he’s a Templar through and through. She’ll need all the help she can get.

All of my love,

Anders

Anders set aside the journal and quill, corked the ink bottle, and made his way to his trunks. He removed his Warden gear, washed himself with cold water from the pitcher and bowl on the nightstand, and clambered into bed. The cotton sheets were cool on his bare skin, and Anders rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Tonight is my first night in Kirkwall, he thought. Tomorrow he would try to find his footing in this city. Tomorrow he would advocate for mages, all mages. Tomorrow he would speak with Nathaniel and arrange for them to go to the Gallows and investigate the strange red statute that sang like lyrium and the Blight. Tomorrow he would speak with Fenris and learn more about him. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

With these thoughts in his head, Anders finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on Elvhen Language Translations: Most of the Elvhen used in this was taken from FenxShiral's [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7825850). I am certain that I messed up somewhere along the line with my verb conjugations, but I'm going to try and learn so that Fenris and Merrill can speak in Elvhen to each other and to other elves. Thank you to FenxShiral for undertaking what must have been an extremely complex project. It is very, very impressive!
> 
> Andaran atish’an- Enter this place in peace.
> 
> Ha'ma'inal, Anders- Rest/Relax, Anders.
> 
> On nydha, Anders. - Good night, Anders.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this story, I hope that making it my NaNoWriMo project means that I will be able to provide consistent updates! Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment and ask questions. I will answer what I can!


	4. Letters and Feathers

Anders sat at the table in front of his bedroom window, reading letters and enjoying the faint breeze that played with his hair. When a courier rode in that morning with a pile of letters in hand, Anders impatiently waited for a chance to read his correspondence and see what his friends across the sea had to say. He began with the letters from his fellow Wardens. Sigrun’s letter was chatty, and Surana’s letter- well. It was a thick package of parchment. Anders carefully opened the wax seal and began to read.

Dear Anders,

How is it in swampy Kirkwall? I hear the place has snakes and rats lurking in every corner and nesting sewer. I’m sure the cat population loves that, and I’m sure you’ll love having cats around.

Nathaniel wrote promptly to say you both arrived and report on your relationship with your future husband. He despairs over your topics of conversation, and says he’s grateful that Commander Fenris doesn’t seem to understand half of your words. But we all know Nathaniel’s fussy. It’s that nobleman education. He wouldn’t know how to properly woo anyone. I thank the Maker, the Creators, the Stone, and every God and spirit out there that Alistair is a sensible sort who likes having feelings and experiencing them.

My wedding plans have been going splendidly, thank you for asking. I suppose all it takes to get Ferelden nobles on your side is to promise to let Barkspawn spend a night with the lady mabari hounds. I expect to be the proud elvhen grandmother of several litters of pudgy mabari pups come spring! I will also be Queen if all goes well. Perhaps I will add “Visiting the Royal Mabari Litters” to the royal itinerary.

Anora is taking the wedding with surprising grace and poise. Ousting a Queen from her position is never an easy task, but Alistair and I know we need her experience if we plan to build Ferelden into a stronger kingdom. Anora might love power, but she loves Ferelden more. We’re keeping her on as a royal advisor, and I think she’s grateful for the chance to be more active without fear of ruffling feathers. I believe we can all get along eventually. I’ve made good friends with less common ground between us.

Speaking of friends, I wanted to ask you to do me a favor. A small one, of course, and nothing life threatening. Just ask around and see if you can find someone for me. I hear that Kirkwall has quite a few people with quite a few connections, so you may be able to track down a woman who was one of my companions during the Blight. 

Her name is Morrigan, and she’s an apostate. Well, apostate seems to be too narrow a term for Morrigan. She’s more like a witch, or sorceress, or perhaps you could even call her an arcane researcher. She is brilliant and snarky, and incredibly cunning. She also very much does not want to be found, for reasons that I understand though I do not agree with them. I do not want to drag her back to Ferelden or Amaranthine. Alistair and I merely wish to know that she (and anyone with her) are safe and if they require anything. It has been a burden on both of our minds for some time now, and it would ease the heaviness in our hearts to know that Morrigan is well. 

Please don’t feel obligated to take my request as an order, Anders. I am Warden Commander and you are a Warden, but I think of you as a friend. This is merely the request of a friend, and nothing more. Treat it as such.

The matter of the statue in the Gallows, on the other hand, is absolutely Warden business. I can’t think of anything that is more Warden-ish than investigating the Blight. Maybe hiking around in the Deep Roads or acting grim and self-sacrificing? I don’t think we’re good Wardens, Anders! As soon as you and Nathaniel gather the appropriate gear, you must investigate the source of the Blight you sensed in Kirkwall. We cannot let another Blight sweep across Thedas. We do not have the resources to seal it away again, not when Ferelden’s Wardens have been so weakened and the Free Marchers being so disjointed and disorganized.

I hope to hear from you soon, Anders. Stay safe in Kirkwall, and I hope you can finally get your own cat out there. I also wish you the best of luck in your future marriage. If what Nathaniel has written is any indication, I think you will be happy.

Lots of Love,

Neria Surana, Warden Commander of Ferelden, Hero of Ferelden, Arless of Amaranthine, etc. etc.

P.S. Alistair says hello and that he’s sorry that he wasn’t able to say goodbye to you. He also requests that you say nice things about him to Varric Tethras, as he wants a signed copy of one of his books. I have no idea which one. Just find him a book of Tethras’s, get it signed, and send it to Amaranthine. It will make Alistair’s year.

At the bottom of Surana’s letter was a short note scrawled out in another hand, the letters blocky and bold compared to Surana’s slanted, messy handwriting.

Please make it Swords and Shields or Hard In Hightown, Anders! The first one, not the sequels, I don’t think Tethras wrote those. - A.

“Alistair.” Anders said with a sigh and a smile. He folded the letter up and set it on the table in his room. He sat at the window again, his windows opened to let in the light and sea breeze. The scent of salt and flowers drifted into his room, and Anders took a deep breath in.

Today he and Nathaniel were resting. They arrived in Kirkwall nearly a week ago. The day after their arrival was spent speaking with Viscount Tethras. Or, as the dwarf insisted, just Varric. They discussed how they sensed the Blight’s taint in the Gallows, and Varric wove a fantastical tale of the mad Knight Commander and a relic made of red lyrium that she fused to her sword to augment her Templar abilities. Varric claimed that the enormous slave statues came to life at Meredith Stannard’s command, that she moved to annul the Gallows, that in the end Knight Captain Cullen stood against her and took command for some time after she was- well. 

Varric claimed that Meredith became a statue, the red lyrium idol she used to strengthen her weapon absorbing her instead. Anders found it all as fantastical as the idea that Cullen Rutherford would stand with mages against a fellow Templar. Cullen, the rule follower, the one who was rumored to have gone half mad himself after the Blight and Kinloch’s fall stood against his commanding officer? Impossible. Yet Varric claimed it was true, and his companions confirmed it. Isabela called the Gallows cursed, Aveline said it was a dark place, Hawke said she didn’t know people could turn to stone, and Merrill shuddered and said it was a rather unpleasant event before quickly changing the subject.

Fenris, though. Fenris had the most interesting commentary. When Anders had asked him what had happened (with Merrill translating) Fenris shrugged and said something short and sharp in Elvhen as he was armoring up to go to the training grounds and join Aveline and Hawke.

“Fenris said that Meredith Stannard was as bad as any magister by the end. What happened to her was justice.” Merrill said, and when Fenris said something else, softer and kinder, Merrill blushed and hastily continued her sentence. “And Fenris doesn’t think you’re a magister, Anders, not at all!”

“That’s a comfort.” Anders muttered to himself as he looked over the garden. Fenris saw the world in terms of magisters and everyone else, magisters being the measurement of ultimate evil. While Anders was grateful that Fenris didn’t see him as a magister, he knew he fell dangerously close merely because he held magic. It hurt to know that his future husband was already suspicious of him and his magic. It hurt to know that his magic made Fenris fearful. But Anders soldiered on. He reminded himself that Fenris was from Tevinter, and a magic-less elf in Tevinter did not have many options. He was most likely a slave, and that- that would taint anyone’s opinion of magic.

“At least he’s giving me a chance to prove myself.” Anders said. It was certainly better than no chance at all. Anders returned his attention to the stack of letters on the table that required his attention. He had already opened and read the one from Sigrun, who had written it for Velanna and added greetings from all the other Wardens at Amaranthine. Sigrun said that Velanna had taken to running the clinic surprisingly well, especially when she realized that many of her patients were elves and that there were more than enough competent mage healers to deal with the shem she didn’t want to bother with. Sigrun’s warm, gossipy letter made Anders feel a little homesick. Amaranthine was the closest thing that Anders had ever had to a home since he was a boy. Anders piled Surana’s letter on top of Sigrun’s, and moved onto the next piece of correspondence, a letter written on fine parchment with an elegant hand. It was from Fiona.

Anders carefully opened the bright red wax seal and unfolded the crisp parchment. Fiona’s elegant, curled writing flowed across the page.

Dear Warden Anders, Enchanter and Head Healer of the Free Mages of Amaranthine,

It fills me with great pleasure to know you have arrived safely in Kirkwall. We are all relieved to learn that you have been accepted by the Dalish and Kirkwall leadership. I understand that you must fulfill some of your Warden duties while in the city, and while I advise you exercise caution, I understand and approve of your dedication to your responsibilities as a Warden. Thedas is made all the better because of men like you, Anders.

I am told that your future husband seems quite taken with you, if Warden Commander Surana’s interpretation of Nathaniel Howe’s letters is to be believed. This bodes well for our alliance with the Dalish tribes, and I confess to feeling great relief at the prospect that you will enjoy a happy union. Though I know we entered this alliance for practical reasons, it is no sin to take pleasure where one can. It is no crime to find comfort when it is offered.

Be well, Anders. I know that it is a difficult road ahead of you. I wish you and your future husband good fortune.

First Enchanter of the Free Mages of Amaranthine,

Fiona

“So we’re Free Mages, now.” Anders murmured. It certainly had a nicer ring than “Mages of the Mage Rebellion.” It gave them a sort of legitimacy that Anders knew sounded better on the tongue. A rebellion could sometimes sound like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Free Mages. He was no apostate, no child to be scolded and put in the corner. He was a free man, a free Mage. No one put Anders in a corner. No one. 

Anders was a little bemused by the letters congratulating him on his impending nuptials. Fenris had been polite, yes, and he would give Anders that amused half-smile that suggested he enjoyed Anders’s company, but otherwise there was nothing pointing towards a blissful, romantic union between Fenris and himself. Just what had Nathaniel written to Warden Commander Surana?

Anders set Fiona’s letter aside with the others, and opened the second to last letter on the table, instantly recognizing the neat scrawl of Evelyn Trevelyan.

To My Dear Tutor and Friend Anders,

I’ve finally left Amaranthine for Haven! Fiona and Warden Commander Surana also supplied me with a bridal trousseau, just like we supplied you. Did you have anything to do with its planning, Anders? Surana was never one for the Infirmary or the healing arts, and Fiona is much the same, yet one trunk is full of all the supplies I could ever ask for to establish a clinic: a copper cauldron, brass scales to weigh ingredients, glass vials and beakers, heat runes of the highest quality, and copies of all the latest medical texts! There is even a new copy of your own notes, Anders, and don’t think I don’t recognize your handwriting! I am beyond grateful to all of you for your kindness, though I haven’t the foggiest idea what I will do with seven sets of silk small clothes. It is hardly practical, but they are beautiful. I don’t think I will get much use of them, for Haven is so cold. The woolen nightgown and robe are much more suited to the climate. I do appreciate the hair ribbons, though. I will be sure to use them, even if it is a little girlish and I’m a woman grown.

The voyage to Haven has been invigorating. I’ve never been in the Ferelden countryside, and our route takes us along the Ferelden coastline. While we stick to the North Road, we have stopped at several towns and settlements along the way. All of Ferelden is recovering from the Blight, and our company is greeted with suspicion wherever we go. I do not know if the negative attention is because of me, the mage, or the leader of the mercenary band that Fiona hired to escort me to Haven. 

Bull’s Chargers comes highly recommended, but they are an unusual group. For one, they are led by The Iron Bull, a qunari man who is larger than life in all ways. He is enormous in size and personality, and Bull has a heart to match. He has been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, and his company follows his lead. Secondly, the company has some strange members. They are skilled, but they are not the type of people that you would think of when you think of mercenaries. All of the Chargers have helped me get used to camping and traveling such long distances. It has been a challenge, but I will conquer it. I may be noble born, but I am certainly not soft!

There is a mage in the Chargers who goes by the name Dalish, but she insists she is an archer and not a mage. The crystals on her staff (or bow) are a trick to help her aim her shots, she claims, and her Keeper sent her out to see the world. Since Dalish is so insistent that she is an archer, not a mage, I have not traded ideas on magic. I do, however, observe her technique, and I believe she’s been keeping an eye on me as well. I hope I have not made a fool of myself. Enchanter Lydia always praised my technique back in Ostwick, but I have not had much practice in combat.

Bull insists I get practical experience in the field with my magic. He says it is easier to protect someone who is aware of danger and can defend themselves. I am told that it buys the company valuable time in worst case scenarios where I am separated from the Chargers. I think Bull is just being kind again. He sees how uncomfortable standing around doing nothing makes me, so encouraging me to practice is his way of including me in the group.

Skinner is another member of the Chargers. She’s a city elf and can be rather grim and difficult, but she’s been polite enough to me. She’s only called me shem three times, and none at all since I helped Stitches bandage her up after a fight in a tavern. Stitches was a soldier during the Blight, and he’s the company healer. We’ve swapped information, and he’s quite knowledgeable! I let him read the books and notes you and the others gave me, and I’ve written down some of his observations as well. Practical knowledge is always valuable, you know.

Rocky and Grim are two other members of the Chargers. Rocky is a dwarf with an enormously impressive mustache. He works with explosives and is rather friendly (though he did ask me if I knew of any plants that are conducive to causing explosions). Grim does not talk. Bull claims he is a king or lord of a small kingdom, but since Grim does not speak it can neither be confirmed or denied.

The last member of Bull’s Chargers is Bull’s lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi. He is originally from Tevinter, and is- well, he is the most gentlemanly man I’ve ever met. Polite, knowledgeable in all matters, and an engaging speaker as well. I have only heard horror stories of Tevinter, as all Circle mages have, but if the country produces such men as Lieutenant Aclassi I think there is a chance that we can resolve our differences.

The Chargers keep a close eye on me, their leader Iron Bull most of all. Bull warns me to remain aware of my surroundings in these parts, and I humor him by nodding and hanging onto every word as if it were gold. I do not say that I am always aware of my surroundings and the people that are in them. I do not wish to alarm my new companions, or make them think that I do not trust them. They believe I’m a sheltered noblewoman who happens to be a mage and needs a bit of protecting. They don’t know what Circles are like, Anders, and I don’t want to shatter the illusion for them now. Is it wrong of me to want to keep them in the dark? Should I tell them of my experiences? Of how I fled Ostwick and came to Amaranthine?

You know all the particulars, of course. I could not hide the truth from you or Grand Enchanter Fiona, and Warden Commander Surana has a way of prying information out of anyone. But I don’t wish to share my past with the Chargers, right when we are all getting along so well. I could not bear them looking at me with fear, or worse, with pity. Is that selfish of me?

On a lighter note, I’ve been writing this by the light of a campfire, which is a novel experience! The light flickers and jumps and I am certain my handwriting is terrible, yet I would not trade this experience for the world. I have ridden on horseback for three days straight. I slept in a room above a tavern. I witnessed a bar fight, avoided said bar fight, and then helped heal people after the bar fight. I caught a fish with a line and hook (Dalish taught me how). I helped defeat a group of bandits by casting an ice spell to keep them from escaping (we turned them into local authorities). I camped out under the stars, and the Chargers taught me the names of constellations and how to find north so I can always find my way when lost. I have learned so much, Anders, and all of it has made me more convinced in our cause. All mages, all people, deserve this freedom I now enjoy.

I know you are doing everything you can to help our cause in Kirkwall, Anders. I hope you and your future husband are getting along. Is it terrible that I’m dreading my first meeting with Ser Cullen? You and Surana eased my worries in Amaranthine, but I can’t help but be a little apprehensive. I will do my best to be courageous, but I am still afraid. I do not entertain much hope beyond developing a friendship with my future husband. If we can achieve that, it will be enough for me. But I hope you have more than that, Anders. You deserve someone who can make you happy, and I hope you and your Fenris can find joy together. Tease me for being a romantic, but it’s what I hope for.

The second letter from me is for your future spouse. Would you mind giving it to him? I wanted to congratulate you both and wish you the best. May all of us have a brighter future ahead of us, Anders!

Your Ever Dutiful Student and Loyal Friend,

Evelyn Trevelyan

“Oh Evelyn.” Anders sighed, setting the letter down. “You are so young.” She was an intelligent woman, one of the finest herbalists Ostwick Circle ever produced, and her staff technique was impressive. There was no wasted energy, no extraneous movement. She was poised and precise. And Evelyn had seen more of the darkness in men’s hearts than most. Circles were not safe havens from the world. She was, as she had said in her letter, a woman grown. But in so many ways, Evelyn Trevelyan was naive. Anders prayed that she would be fortunate enough to find friendship in Haven, but he expected the worst. The Free Mages sent their best into a den of hungry lions, and now they waited to see what would happen next.

Anders held the last letter in his hands, the one Evelyn wrote for Fenris. While he was curious about what she wrote, he resisted the urge to crack open the wax seal and read. He would hand it to Fenris and let him read it. Or Merrill would read and translate for him. Anders wasn’t certain. He would have liked to do it himself, but he never had a talent for languages. It didn’t feel right to hold on to the letter until Anders was able to communicate properly with Fenris.

“I will have to work hard. Hit the books.” Anders murmured. Were there any books on Elvhen? He would ask Varric if he could peruse the keep’s library. There must be something of use there! But the thought of the daunting task scrounging the massive library for one helpful source was enough to give Anders a headache. Staying in his room all day to read his letters and rest was enough to drive a man mad. Nathaniel insisted on Anders staying in the Keep to “keep you out of trouble,” but it only served to make Anders want to cause trouble. All this stone, all these walls- he was restless again. Anders stood up and looked out the window to try and break the feeling of being caged in. The sea breeze ruffled at his hair like a lover’s fingers searching through the strands.

Anders wondered if Fenris would like having his hair touched.

Not that they would ever reach the heights of intimacy that way, Anders immediately doused his romantic fires with the waters of reality. Theirs was a marriage of politics, and while they seemed to have developed a rapport they certainly were not intimate. They were not lovers. They would not be lovers. In all likelihood they would never become lovers. Perhaps, if their relationship continued to progress, they could become steadfast friends. But Anders knew that love was a dangerous game to play. He would not pursue romance, especially when it put the Dalish-Mage alliance at risk. He would not pursue romance anyways. He was too old. He did not have Neria Surana’s assurance in her true love’s devotion or Evelyn Trevelyan’s wide eyed naivety about the future. He had only himself and his own experiences, and Anders knew to never trust in love.

He could trust in attraction, though, and Anders was very attracted to Fenris. Who wouldn’t be? He was a handsome man, and his smiles always put Anders at ease. Fenris had a face made for smiling and a voice made for laughter, though smiles and laughter seemed rare to Fenris. If he had lived in Tevinter, Anders was certain that happiness was in short supply in Fenris’s life. Anders stood up and stretched his body, arching back like a cat. He would have to respond to these letters, he thought glumly, and soon. Neria would be impatient for news about the Blighted statue and his upcoming nuptials, Fiona would expect a detailed account of the wedding negotiations, and Evelyn- Evelyn needed some advice from an older (though perhaps not wiser) mage. 

Perhaps a walk in the garden below would help him clear his head. He could draft those letters while he walked. And if by chance he ran into Fenris or Merrill… Anders slipped Evelyn’s unopened letter into the pocket of his coat, a plain, ragged garment that he usually wore when he was working or in the privacy of his own rooms. He threw a short cape of feathers on over the coat to give him a little extra warmth. The cape had the appearance of a molting bird, but Anders loved the tattered thing and carefully mended it when the feathers fell out.

It was just a walk in the garden. No one would notice him or care that he wasn’t dressed and polished to perfection. He would simply walk, enjoy the sunlight, and compose his letters. Then he would return to his room, write his responses, write to Karl, and then dress up properly and head down for dinner. Tomorrow would be a day filled with marriage negotiations, and Anders wanted to be well rested with his mind fully focused on the topic at hand. Satisfied with his plan, Anders shut the bedroom door behind him and made his way out to the small plaza garden outside his window.

The sun was warm on his face as he walked along the flagstones and made his way to the center fountain. There was a little bench under the boughs of a maple tree that was hidden from view until you stood at the fountain and looked to the west. Though the courtyard was enclosed by the walls of the keep, Anders knew where to look. His bedroom window faced south, and when he looked up to the window he knew he was facing north. He turned to his left and headed down the short path, ducking under a branch so he could sit down at the stone bench and think for a moment without pacing around his room.

What sort of letter should he write to Neria, Anders wondered. Perhaps he could wait until he and Nathaniel had something more to report on with the Blight in the Gallows. Neria would want information on the Blight just as much as she would love some juicy gossip. He would wait until after he and Nathaniel investigated the island before writing back to Neria. Satisfied with his plan, Anders moved on to the next letter, the short one from Sigrun filled with chatter about the other Wardens and his clinic in Amaranthine. He would write it along with Neria’s letter, and send them off at the same time. That would be easier for a courier, and he could always write another letter when the situation called for it.

Fiona would expect a letter far sooner that Neria would, but she would not want to read gossip or idle chatter. He would write tomorrow after the first round of marriage negotiations were finished. There would be plenty to discuss, especially concerning trade through the wilderness controlled by the different clans. Every clan would expect different terms, Anders had been warned. He would have to tread carefully, and he would have to depend on Fenris to guide him through the negotiations.

He would write to Fiona tomorrow after the preliminary meetings, Anders told himself, and that matter was settled. Anders tilted his head back and stared up at the sun filtering through the maple leaves. The green of the leaves and gold of the sun rippled in the wind like water. Anders placed his palms against the cool stone of the bench, grounding himself to this place, this moment. He could feel the pressure building up between his eyes at the bridge of his nose slowly melting away as he took in the peaceful surroundings.

He had a difficult choice to make now. How should he respond to Evelyn’s letter? There were many things he could write to give his pupil comfort. He could be vague and assure her that Cullen was a fair man when he knew him, that Evelyn could trust him to try his best to understand her. He could lie and say that Evelyn had nothing to fear. Anders could tell the truth and tell Evelyn that she was taking the greatest risk of them all, going out to the remote town of Haven to deal with Templars and Chantry officials. Anders was certain that Evelyn already knew what she had gotten herself into. The truth was obvious to them all.

Anders was lucky: his greatest enemies had been defeated before he even arrived on these shores. The people of Kirkwall did not feel threatened by Mages. What harm could the Free Mages possibly do now that the Templars and Chantry destroyed half the city and each other?

Neria was marrying the King of Ferelden. Not only was she marrying royalty, but she had saved the entire nation from the Blight! She had brought peace and justice to a country in chaos, and was much loved by the people. Neria Surana faced danger, surely, but she was well prepared for it. It couldn’t possibly be more dangerous than an Archdemon, Anders thought wryly.

But Evelyn walked into the lion’s den. The Templars she was meeting may have left the Order, but Templars didn’t change. Those flaming swords would still be flaming swords. To add to the high tensions that would already be running, the former Templars agreed to host a contingent of Chantry officials to try and negotiate a peaceful end to the rebellion. And, if that wasn’t enough anti-Mage sentiment, the Templars (former Templars) had set up camp in the little town of Haven, where the temple where Andraste’s Ashes were kept was located. The town was populated by the most devout of Andrastians. It hardly mattered that Andraste was a mage: Chantry doctrine insisted that magic was both gift and curse, that magisters tainted the Fade and started the Blight, that magic brought demons into the world. No one in Haven, from Templar to Chantry clergy member to Haven citizen, would take kindly to a mage in their midst. Evelyn would be alone.

She already knew this, Anders realized. Evelyn knew she would arrive in Haven with no friends, and was doing all she could to gain the friendship (or at least fondness) of the mercenaries escorting her. Evelyn was trying to find friends where she could, trying to build a foundation that could support her when she needed assistance. Evelyn Trevelyan would arrive in Haven with a few trunks, a mercenary band, and herself, and she would have to marry a stranger to prevent a war. And she would do it with little help from her husband to be. Anders was certain that Cullen Rutherford would be more hindrance than help to Evelyn.

Cullen. He had been Kirkwall for after the Blight. He did not know what happened to Cullen when Kinloch Hold fell. He heard the rumors, of course: blood magic, torture, the Blight, demons- and Cullen was one of the few who survived the assault. There were stories that Cullen murdered two apprentices and fled to Kirkwall, but Anders put no stock in those stories. Anders had it on good authority that the two murdered apprentices were in the White Spire, not in any location where Cullen had spent time in. He didn’t think that Cullen was incapable of murdering mages: Anders simply didn’t believe that he had killed those mages.

What had Neria said about Cullen when she rescued him from the ruins of Kinloch? He hadn’t been quite sane, ranting about killing them all, telling Surana to murder every mage. Neria recited the words incredulously to Anders when she told him of what happened to their former home and jail. The man who used to blush and stammer whenever she spoke to him had become a person she did not recognize. Anders couldn’t even recognize the man Neria described in her story, but even though Anders was disappointed he was not surprised. It was only a matter of time before the ‘good’ Templars went bad.

Then Cullen was in Kirkwall, under the guidance of an incredibly strict Knight Commander. Meredith Stannard was rumored to be particularly brutal with the mages placed in her care, and Anders had paid close attention to Kirkwall after- well. Anders paid attention to Kirkwall and the Gallows, that was all. What was it that Fenris had said? That Meredith Stannard was as bad as any magister? Power hungry, corrupt- and even though Cullen was said to have stood against her in the end, the betrayal of his commander, of his vows as a Templar, must have cut deep. He left the order with other like minded Templars and relocated to Haven. Probably to pray for guidance, Anders thought. Hoping that the Maker would tell them they were just and righteous and it wasn’t their fault they followed mad leaders and slayed innocents.

That’s uncharitable, his conscious chided. He should try to have some faith in the goodness of mankind. He should try and believe that these former Templars were sincere. He should try. But Anders was so tired of trying.

Evelyn should hear the truth, Anders decided. She deserved the truth, as much as Anders could give her. And since he was conveniently in Kirkwall, he could ask about Ser Cullen and his time here. He could get answers for Evelyn. He could find answers for himself.

Something rustled in the garden, and Anders looked up as Fenris ducked under a maple branch and stood in front of the bench. In front of him. He was wearing a simple dark cotton tunic and dark doeskin leggings. His feet were bare. Fenris looked down at Anders, his green eyes scanning his face. Anders felt his cheeks grow hot as Fenris appraised him. Fenris dropped his gaze down to Anders’s clothing. His lips quirked up into a smile.

“On dhea’him, Anders.” Fenris murmured. He gestured to the empty spot next to Anders and said something in Elvhen. Anders did not understand the words, but he understood the gesture and the way Fenris’s voice lifted. He was asking Anders a question, and Anders was certain that Fenris was asking to sit with him.

“Of course, Fenris.” Anders replied, and he scooted over to let Fenris sit down. After a moment, Fenris sat down on the bench next to him. Their shoulders brushed against each other. Fenris’s body was rather warm, and if he had thought Fenris’s gaze was unnerving he had not realized how the man’s proximity would affect him. Anders did not think- well, Nathaniel would say that Anders never thought, but that was hardly the point! Anders did not realize that his physical interest in his future husband would tie up his tongue and scramble his wits!

Fenris reached up and held one of the feathers sewn into Anders’s cape between his thumb and forefinger, and he murmured something in Elvhen, then something else in- was that Tevene? Yes, Anders was certain that musical sounding word was Tevene. And Fenris was looking at him expectantly, one dark eyebrow raised quizzically, patiently waiting for Anders to say something. He repeated the words, still holding the feather in his fingers, the little white feather in sharp relief against his brown skin.

“Yes, that is a feather, but I- oh. Oh I see.” Anders murmured. “Feather. That is a feather, Fenris.”

“Feather.” Fenris repeated. He then pointed to a little wren peeping a happy little tune in the lower branches of the maple tree above them, and rapidly said three words in three different tongues. Anders recognized the Elvhen and Tevene from his time around Anders, but the third language was unfamiliar to him.

“That is some kind of wren. Bird is probably the word you’re looking for, though.” Anders replied. “Are you trying to- to learn Common? In an afternoon?” It seemed an impossible task, but Fenris only smiled at him.

“Bird. Anders, you are… bird mage.” Fenris declared with all the solemnity of a judge pronouncing a sentence on a criminal, or a Chantry Mother delivering a sermon.

“Excuse me?” Anders asked.

“Warden.” Fenris pointed to Anders to emphasize what he meant. “Gryphon.” He gestured to his right shoulder, where the gryphon insignia of the Grey Wardens was always proudly displayed on his Warden surcoat and armor when Anders wore his armor. The gryphon had evidently made quite the impression with Fenris!

“Feathers.” Fenris gently tugged at the edge of Anders’s cape, then pointed to Anders one more time. “Mage. Feather Mage. Bird Mage.” Fenris shrugged. He had made his point perfectly clear.

“Is this a pet name or something?” Anders asked, and Fenris scowled. His dark eyebrows furrowed into a sharp V shape on his forehead, his mouth turned into a deep frown, and his eyes looked angry but also… hurt? Yes, Anders was certain that Fenris was hurt by what he said, though Anders didn’t know what offended him.

“Not pet.” Fenris insisted sharply. “It is… fond. Not cruel. Not meant to be cruel.” He looked particularly grim in that moment, and Anders only wanted to lighten his mood. Anders hesitantly reached out and over, and slowly, ever so slowly, set his hand on top of Fenris’s, where it was curled into a fist on the bench between them.

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Fenris.” Anders said softly. “I- I like it. It’s sweet of you to come up with a nickname for me. Most people don’t even bother with my name, it’s always ‘you over there’ or ‘Healer now’ or ‘Warden.’ Do you know how depressing it is to be called Warden all the time, like my title has taken over my identity?” When Fenris just stared at him Anders sighed and gently squeezed Fenris’s hand.

“I like Bird Mage. It’s… cute.” Anders decided, and when Fenris’s brow unfurled and his expression was less guarded, Anders smiled at him. He pointed to himself, then tapped his nose.

“It also helps that I have a bit of a beaky nose. Bird nose, bird feathers, Bird Mage.” Anders said lightly, and when Fenris smiled Anders felt his heart flutter in his chest. Maker, Fenris was beautiful when he smiled!

“Bird Mage.” Fenris repeated, and he turned his hand over on the bench. They sat on the bench, clasping hands palm to palm, and Anders felt like they had reached some sort of understanding in the quiet of the garden. They did not discuss anything of weight. Fenris would point to an object and say its name in several languages, and Anders would supply the name in Common. Sometimes Anders wondered if Fenris was only humoring him. Fenris clearly knew enough Common to string together a few sentences and make his feelings known to others. Untangling the enigma that was Fenris would require time and patience, Anders was certain. But Anders had both of these qualities in spades. He could and would wait for Fenris to open up and trust him. It would be no trouble, Anders thought.

Eventually the sun began to set over the sea, and while they could not see the celestial orb descend behind the watery depths, they saw the sky turn dark above them. The stars above glimmered, and when the darkness grew too great Anders stood up and held his hand out to Fenris.

“I believe we should head inside for dinner.” Anders said. Fenris reached up and let Anders tug him to his feet. Fenris then held out the crook of his arm for Anders to take, as if he were a gently bred country lass and Fenris was his escort for the evening.

“Food. Yes.” Fenris agreed. “Ma serannas, Anders, for the words.”

“‘Ma serannas.” Anders murmured. “Does that mean thank you?” Fenris shrugged, but Anders was certain that he had guessed the meaning of the phrase correctly. Context truly was everything!

“‘Ma serannas, Fenris, for your company.” Anders replied, and he let Fenris take him to dinner. Later that evening, Fenris and Anders were once again left to themselves with Merrill to translate while Nathaniel discussed the upcoming voyage to the Gallows with Varric, Hawke, Aveline, and Isabela. Anders handed Fenris the letter he had stored in his jacket pocket.

“This is from a friend of mine, a fellow mage who is traveling to Haven for her own wedding. She told me she wanted to write to you and wish us both well.” Anders explained. “I haven’t read it, since it’s addressed to you.” Merrill translated, and Fenris carefully took the letter into his hands before slipping it into a pouch at his belt. He murmured something to Anders, and while Anders didn’t understand most of it, he understood the words ma serannas. Thank you.

“Fenris is grateful that you respected his privacy, Anders.” Merrill explained. “He thanks you for your thoughtfulness.”

“It was no trouble, really.” Anders said, and he just knew his face was red and flushed. With his pale coloring and reddish gold hair he probably looked like a burning candle!

“It matters to Fenris.” Merrill replied firmly. “It matters a great deal.”

“Everyone deserves their privacy.” Anders replied. “I will protect yours, Fenris, just as much as I protect mine. We are- well, we will be partners. We must do what we can to take care of each other.” His cheeks probably resembled ripe tomatoes at this point, Anders thought, but as Merrill translated his embarrassing, stumbling monologue to Fenris Anders found some pleasure in the pink flush that started at Fenris’s cheeks and rose to the tips of his ears.

“Bird Mage.” Fenris muttered. “He sings pretty words.”

“I am quite serious!” Anders protested. “I might babble, but I am an honest sort! Mostly. I do sometimes steal from the kitchens, but most Wardens do that. We eat a lot.” Fenris only looked skeptical after Merrill spoke.

“He doesn’t believe you.” Merrill said apologetically. “About the eating, not your honesty. I think Fenris believes you’re honest.”

“I don’t blame him, really. I don’t look like I eat anything.” Anders replied. “Ever meet a fat Warden?”

“We’ve never met Wardens, until you and Warden Nathaniel.” Merrill answered.

“You’ll never see a fat one. Promise you that.” Anders said firmly, and soon they wandered over to the rest of the party to discuss the upcoming Gallows trip, which they would embark on soon. Anders was dreading it, and not only because of the dangers that the Blight held for everyone in the city. It was the Gallows, the worst of the worst Circles, the nightmare that always lingered in the back of every mage’s mind, the threat that was used to keep frightened Circle mages frightened and obedient. It could be worse, they were warned. It could be worse, they consoled each other, themselves. It could be worse. It could be The Gallows.

Anders did not wish to step foot in the wretched place, but duty called and he must answer.

When it was finally time to turn in for the night, Fenris once again escorted Anders to his bedchamber and bid him farewell, though his hand lingered on Anders’s shoulder a little longer than proper, and he squeezed Anders’s forearm gently before removing his hand.

“Good night, Bird Mage.” Fenris said, and with a turn of his heel he was gone and left Anders as befuddled and weak kneed as always. Someday, Anders vowed, I will surprise him the way he always surprises me!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the keep, Fenris eagerly unfolded the letter he was carrying and handed it to Merrill so she could translate it for him. Merrill edged closer to the fire in his room to catch the light before flopping on a floor cushion and crossing her legs. Fenris did not join her by the fireside. He could not sit down. Instead of tapping his foot impatiently or pacing about the room, Fenris carefully unpacked a small pot full of grease and a clean rag, and set about polishing his already gleaming breastplate and gauntlets. He worked the grease into every joint with the rag as Merrill read the letter out loud.

“To Fenris, War Commander of the United Dalish Tribes- that’s rather nice of her, to address you by your full title!” Merrill exclaimed. “And she wrote it in our tongue, though she used the Common spelling and not our lettering system-”

“Merrill. The letter.” Fenris said sternly.

“Yes, yes.” Merrill cleared her throat and continued to read.

“I am Evelyn Trevelyan, a member of the Free Mages of Amaranthine and a pupil of your betrothed, Warden Anders. Anders was my instructor in the healing clinic in Amaranthine, and one of the finest spirit healers and men that I have ever known. Kirkwall is fortunate to have his help, and I know he will be of great help to the Dalish Clans as we unite against the Chantry’s power and influence. But I did not write this letter to chat about politics. 

Commander Fenris, Anders is a dear friend to me. He is one of the few I have, and in many ways he has treated me like family. And because I see him as family, I write to you to wish you the best in your future marriage to Anders, for you will also be as a brother to me. I hope that you will both find joy in your union. Though I know this marriage between you begins in treaties and political alliances, it is my hope that you and Anders can find peace and happiness within each other.Perhaps that is romantic and sentimental of me to hope, but I cannot help it. 

I wish you well, Commander Fenris, and I hope one day we will meet as friends.

Evelyn Trevelyan, Enchanter of the Free Mages of Amaranthine, Former Enchanter of Ostwick Circle

As Merrill unfolded the last bit of the letter, a small, folded up scrap of paper fluttered down to the floor. Merrill picked it up and slowly unfolded it. When it was finally unfurled to its full size (about the length of her palm) Merrill scanned it, then whistled lowly.

“It’s from the Hero of Ferelden, addressed to you!” Merrill whispered. “The Hero of Ferelden wrote to you, Fenris!”

“She writes to all of us. She is negotiating an alliance with our people.” Fenris pointed out, but Merrill stared at him with her great big green eyes.

“She wrote to you personally, Fenris!” Merrill exclaimed, emphasizing the word ‘personally.’

“Then read this note the Hero of Ferelden wrote to me.” Fenris ordered, but even though he pretended nonchalance he was quite curious. What sort of business did a legend have with a former slave?

“Fenris-

Told Evelyn to include this folded up note in her letter to you. If you got it it means she didn’t read it. My message is simple: Make Anders cry and I sail over the Waking Sea and kick your ass. Are we understood?

And a word of advice, get Anders a cat. He is wild about cats.

-Warden Commander Surana”

Merrill was quiet for a while after reading the note. Fenris continued to grease the joints in his gauntlets, moving each delicate part to ensure that none of it stuck or was rusted together or had dried blood hidden in a crevice somewhere.

“She is… honest?” Merrill squeaked out.

“She is protective of her soldiers. It is a good trait in a leader.” Fenris replied. “If I had sent out my own soldiers to be diplomats, I would also act like a mother bear guarding her cubs.” Granted, he was a little insulted that the woman thought he might hurt his future spouse. Did she not realize that he and Anders were part of an alliance? A partnership? If any of their plans were to come to fruition, they had to treat each other well. They had to treat each other as equals.

And Fenris couldn’t think of hurting Anders. The silly man was- well, he was so ridiculous and odd that Fenris couldn’t help but find him amusing. He was a breath of fresh air, and Fenris enjoyed his company even when he did speak too fast for him to fully comprehend what he was saying. Anders’s expressions and tone usually conveyed the meaning of his words for him.

“It does reflect well on Anders, that he has such loyal and concerned friends.” Merrill said.

“It does.” Fenris agreed. A power hungry group of people grasping for power would secretly hope for their fellows to fail. But friends? Friends supported each other, as Fenris was still learning in his time with Clan Sabrae and in Kirkwall. Friends stood together and weathered storms of adversity, friends remained strong and united, their bonds unbroken. And Anders had friends who would write to strangers to try and protect him, even when he was across the sea.

What sort of man was Anders, Fenris wondered, to inspire such loyalty and love in his fellow mages? What sort of man sat at his window and gazed wistfully out to sea, then flirted with a man he did not know? What sort of man talked incessantly to a man who could not understand him, but also waited for a response? A strange one, Fenris decided.

Fenris was lucky that he understood Common far better than he normally let on. When the conversation was slow enough, he could understand most of what people were saying. But with Anders, Fenris was lucky if he understood one word out of ten.

“I need to rest.” Fenris announced. “Good night, Merrill.”

“Good night, Fenris! Do try to sleep, you will need your energy for tomorrow.” Merrill chided as she stood up and made her way to the door.

“Yes. I don’t know how we’ll manage to keep Clan Lavellen and Clan Ghilain challenging each other to whatever tasks they wish to measure their bravery with over whatever imagined slight they take offense to.” Fenris muttered. While he liked both of the representatives of the clans, Lavellen’s chief hunter and Ghilain’s First, the two tended to butt heads. Lavellen’s hunter was a quiet young man who enjoyed a good nap in the sunshine and rarely spoke. Ghilain’s First, however, was a firebrand forever on the move. The two couldn’t help but squabble like children. Getting them to focus on the task at hand would be a challenge.

“We will have to trust in the Creators and Varric’s stash of mead and wine to keep them from arguing too fiercely.” Merrill said. “And perhaps Anders will be able to help us smooth over the rough edges. He’s here to negotiate too, after all!”

“Yes, he is. Good night, Merrill.” Fenris said.

“Good night, Fenris.” Merrill replied, and she shut the door behind her. Fenris stripped out of his clothing and lay them on the mattress. He washed with cold water and a dried sea sponge harvested from Kirkwall’s bay. Once he was satisfied that he was clean, Fenris spread out a thick quilt in front of the fireplace and lay down on top of it. He draped a wool blanket over him and tucked his head on a pillow from the bed. He lay on side and stared at the fire.

It was warmer down here next to the fire, and the mattress sunk too much under his weight. He could not rest on such a soft surface. The rug and quilt were ample padding for him. Fenris watched the little licks of flame. They looked like Anders’s hair. Pretty. Would Anders’s hair be as soft and silken as it looked? Fenris wanted to find out.

Fenris was not unfamiliar to feeling desire. He spent his time around many beautiful people, feeling attraction was natural. At least, that was what Isabela claimed. But Fenris rarely felt anything more than basic attraction, and even when he felt that tingle of attraction he couldn’t forget what it felt like to have cold, cruel hands touch him, stroke his skin and pinch his flesh and beat him. He never forgot the sting of the whip and the gnawing hunger in his belly whenever he displeased Hadriana and disappointed Danarius.

But perhaps with Anders it would be different. He had been nothing but gentle, and obviously welcomed Fenris’s attentions. He blushed and smiled and always found an opportunity to speak with Fenris. And his smile was lovely. Fenris wondered what it would be like to kiss that smile, what it would feel like on his mouth. He wondered what it would feel like to touch Anders, truly touch him, and be touched in return. Would it hurt? All of his experiences with sex were painful ones, but with Anders Fenris might be willing to try. Fenris rolled onto his back and shut his eyes. Tomorrow he would begin negotiations with the Mages and the other Dalish tribes. Tomorrow he would see Anders again. Tomorrow they would speak to each other. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- Fenris drifted to sleep wondering about tomorrow.

-

Anders woke up the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed. He had slept without waking from a single nightmare (Blight related or otherwise), and he had slept on a comfortable feather mattress instead of on the floor of a dungeon, in a cave, or on his tiny straw mattress in Amaranthine. Most of the resources among the Free Mages were spent on food, weaponry, and clothing to keep refugees warm, fed, and sheltered. Any extra budget was immediately spent on clothing their diplomats so they would appear to be a force to be reckoned with. Knowing how important it was that he make a good first impression on the other Dalish clans, Anders took his time with his toilette this morning. He washed his hair with soap that was combined with rosemary and lemon, and while he let it dry in front of the fireplace Anders debated over what outfit to wear. In the end he picked his freshly laundered Warden surcoat. Wardens were mostly well respected, after all, and he wanted to show the world that mages didn’t want to be locked away and kept apart. Mages wanted to belong in all parts of society and take an active role in the world.

And besides, Anders thought as he eyed the beautiful but elaborate robes he had hung up in an armoire in the corner of the room, he could always wear one of those formal robes for a ball or something. If there were any balls to be had in Kirkwall. Anders pulled on his trousers and thick woolen socks, then shoved his knee high boots on and buckled them. He slipped on a good, clean linen shirt, tied up the laces, and then slipped his surcoat on and did the clasps on the neck up. Then came the armor, the gryphon pauldron and the leather belts and steel buckles. When Anders’s hair was finally dry he tied it back with a leather cord. Finally dressed, Anders approached his deck, flipped his journal open, and jotted down a quick entry.

20th Day of Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon Age

Dearest Karl,

I am on the cusp of leaving my bedchamber to attend my first diplomatic meeting with the Dalish clans. I’m supposed to represent the Free Mages Of Amaranthine (our new title for the Mage Rebellion, you see) and I can’t help but be nervous. My hand shakes so much that I spilled ink on this page’s bottom right corner. I can’t help my nerves, though. Our alliance depends completely on my words and actions. I have to prove my worth and the worth of our mages to the Dalish, and I fear that I won’t be enough for them. And though Fenris has been friendly towards me, I know he will put his people first. If I do not satisfy or come up to snuff, we are doomed.

Luckily we’re all being hosted by Varric Tethras in Kirkwall, since it’s considered a neutral city. Varric is clever and easy to get along with, and can soothe ruffled feathers and ease tempers with a few well picked words and a smile. And he gets exactly what he wants at the end of it so everyone is happy. But I think Varric is on our side, if there’s any side to be had. And I know I have Hawke’s support, and Merrill, the First Of Clan Sabrae and Fenris’s translator, is kind to me.

Point is, I think we can all get somewhere today, even if it’s just “The Chantry can go suck a fireball.” I’m hopeful, a good deal more hopeful than I was before I left Amaranthine. I fear more for the others than I do for myself, and while my inability to solve their problems is frustrating it’s a good deal less irritating than self pity.

In any case, I have hope Karl, and hope is something I enjoy having. For once in my life I look forward to a meeting with authority figures. Maybe we can finally do something instead of be helpless victims. Perhaps, with some luck, the world will change and for the better. In any case, we must try.

Wish me luck, Karl. I plan to change the world!

All my love,

Anders

Anders just finished penning the last line when someone knocked on his door. When he answered Hawke stood there, dressed in crimson and iron and grinning up at him, her blue eyes clear as a winter sky.

“Do you only wear Warden gear?” Hawke asked brightly. “Is it a Warden thing or a you thing? Do you not have other outfits or-“

“I have other robes and outfits!” Anders said quickly to end Hawke’s stream of questions. “It’s just important to show that I’m a Warden and a mage. Gives me legitimacy.” It was also his uniform, his armor, and he wanted to wear it. 

“If you want to show off your mage status you could just walk in shooting lightning out of your fingers.” Hawke argued. “Pretty easy, and you don’t have to dress up in battle armor.”

“Maybe there will be a battle. I should be prepared.” Anders replied, and Hawke laughed. Her voice was bright and bold and echoed through the stone hallway. Once Anders exited his room and shut the door behind him, Hawke started to lead him through the maze of stone floors and walls and crimson wall hangings.

“Keep your healing fingers at hand, Merrill tells me Dalish war councils get rowdy.” Hawke advised. “She said last week she and Fenris barely prevented a duel between two of the representatives!”

“War Council?” Anders repeated.

“That’s the best translation Merrill could give me. The clans gather so rarely in one place that it has to be a great cause that unites them. Like a war or something. They group up every decade, but to gather outside of that- that’s big.” Hawke shrugged. “An alliance between the clans and the mages seems like a big deal to me.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Anders murmured. Was it too late to go back and change? Evidently yes, as Hawke stopped in front of two large oak doors. Anders heard the muffled sounds of loud conversation in the Elvhen language through the doors. Hawke whistled lowly. Her eyebrows were arched upwards and she seemed to look a little unsettled.

“They aren’t usually this loud.” Hawke muttered under her breath, but she gave Anders a reassuring smile. “But Merrill did say they were rowdy. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Anders replied, and Hawke opened up the doors.

The council was what Anders would call organized chaos. It seemed like twenty people were crowded around a large round table. A large branch painted with red swirling symbols was laid out in the center of the table, and the different Dalish elves (the representatives of the clans) mingled around the table. The loud voices came from two elvhen men who were arguing with each other near the door. Hawke cleared her throat and addressed the elves present.

“So we’re here!” She said cheerfully. “And I brought the mage representative, so if you’re ready to get this meeting started-”

“We are, of course. Please, gather around the table.” Merrill greeted them. She stood from her seat, Fenris on her right and an empty seat to her left. Merrill wore a green robe covered in intricate knotwork sewn in a variety of patterns, and Fenris- Fenris wore simple clothing, a dark green tunic and dark leather leggings. His hair was tied back in a low tail, and he wore no jewelry or symbols of rank. Still he had presence and power, and Anders could feel his status from the way he stood, the way others reacted to his presence, how people stood straighter, watched his every move, watched as he inclined his head to Hawke and then Anders and smiled.

“Andaran atish’an, Anders.” Fenris murmured. All eyes were on them now. Anders inclined his head, mimicking Fenris’s greeting, showing him the same respect Fenris offered him.

“Thank you for welcoming me here, Fenris.” Anders answered respectfully.

“Anders, take this seat. Hawke, if you would sit to Fenris’s right that would be perfect.” Merrill said pleasantly. Her bell like voice was strong and echoed through the room. The Dalish elves gathered at the table, the two bickering men taking seats across from each other and glaring the whole while, bright blue eyes meeting amber brown.

“We gather here before a branch of ironbark.” Merrill proclaimed. “May we stand as strong as this tree once did with its kin. May we be united in our purpose today, and in all our days under the sun.”

“Fly straight and do not waver, bend but never break, and together we are stronger than the one. We are the last of the el’vhen’an, and never again shall we submit.” The group recited, their voices strong as an ocean wave crashing on the shores. Anders wondered if they spoke in Common as a courtesy to him and Hawke. They sat down, and Merrill opened her mouth to speak again, but one of the other Dalish elves interrupted her.

“Is this him? The Rebellion’s representative?” The woman asked. She peered at him from her seat. She had bright red hair and gray eyes, and bright blue marks slashed at her cheeks and chin over her freckles. She was older than many of the other elves present. Her red hair was streaked with silver.

“Yes, I am.” Anders replied. “Warden Anders, Head Healer of the Free Mages of Amaranthine.”

“Hmmm. Healer, eh?” The woman sounded thoughtful. “We have much to discuss, Warden Anders, my clan has need of a trained healer.”

“A matter than can wait. Clan Ghilain has been dealing with Templar encroachment into our hunting grounds.” Another elf, one of the men who was arguing near the door earlier, exclaimed. His hair was long and dark, his skin pale, and his eyes such a dark brown they were almost black. The marks on his cheekbones were bright red. He looked terrifying, like some kind of god of Death, and more than that Anders could feel the power he kept barely restrained. This representative of Clan Ghilain was a mage, and a powerful one.

“And Clan Lavellan has a greedy Ferelden noble trying to drive us off our lands, but you don’t see me demanding anything.” Another elf shouted back. “Give it a rest, Mahariel.” This elf had short hair the color of ripe wheat, and his eyes were the dark blue of the sea. His markings were on his forehead and looked like green antlers with a little star shape in the center. He looked a little less terrifying than his counterpart, but something about his manner told Anders that he was just as dangerous as the other elf he was arguing with.

“Go get fucked by the Dread Wolf, Lavellan.” Mahariel sniped.

“May you be eaten by a bear with mange, Mahariel-” The elf called Lavellan (after his clan, Anders guessed) retorted.

Fenris stood up from his seat and said something in Elvhen, his words clipped and cold. The two men fell silent, the blood draining from their faces. They sat down quietly and kept their eyes trained to their laps, shame-faced. Fenris settled down in his seat and said something else softly to Merrill.

“Well, now that that is settled, shall we begin our business?” Merrill asked politely. “First matter on the list is the training of our mages in Circle techniques, and the trade of information between the mages and our Clans.” 

And from there the council went forward, discussing trade and opening up the trade of runes and enchanted objects to the Dalish clans. Anders promised to train prospective Spirit Healers among the clans in Kirkwall, much as Fenris had apparently promised to drill warriors in fighting techniques.

“It is easier for you and Fenris to remain in Kirkwall, so the clans can send their apprentices to you rather than you traveling place to place to train one person. Also gets the apprentices to socialize with their peers from other clans more often.” Merrill whispered. “And Clan Sabrae makes camp all through Sundermount, so we are only a few days ride away.”

There were several times throughout the day that the representatives of Clan Ghilain and Clan Lavellan began to fuss at each other, but with a sharp word from Fenris they quieted and settled down. 

“Theron and Mahanon disagree with each other as a matter of principle.” Merrill explained. “Theron in First of Clan Ghilain, though he originally came from Clan Sabrae, my clan. He was fostered at a young age. Mahanon is a hunter for Clan Lavellan, an archer without peer.”

“They can’t agree on anything?” Anders asked. “They have nothing in common?”

“They are averse to shemlen and despise Templars.” Merrill replied. “But otherwise, no. They have nothing in common.” Anders thought that that was unlikely, but he held his tongue. It was no business of his. When the council adjourned for lunch, Fenris approached him and Merrill and took them aside. He spoke quickly to Anders, staring up at him with those large, enigmatic eyes.

“Fenris wonders if you are truly comfortable with a permanent stay within Kirkwall. Agreeing to take on so many apprentices will be a great task.” Merrill translated.

“I would not have offered if I did not mean it, Fenris.” Anders replied. “Healing is my life’s work, and showing that mages are not to be feared. It is important.” And when Fenris looked at him, he smiled and gently traced the gryphon on Anders’s pauldron.

“Fierce Bird Mage.” Fenris said softly before he retreated. Anders felt his face heat up as Fenris turned and walked away, and he could barely meet Merrill and Hawke’s gazes. Merrill looked faintly surprised, while Hawke looked a little smug.

“So. Lunch?” Anders asked, and they ate a quick lunch of cold cut ham, fresh bread, cheeses, potato salad, and fresh plums. Fenris ate with him, pouring wine into his glass and paying great attention to him. They did not say much to each other, but Merrill and Hawke remained close while they ate.

“I do have a question about Kirkwall and the Templars. Would you be able to answer them for me, Hawke?” Anders asked as they ate. His thoughts kept drifting to Evelyn’s letter, and he was right here with Hawke and had a chance to speak with someone who would have known Cullen after Anders knew him. He had to take it.

“What do you want to know, Anders?” Hawke asked. “I have the unfortunate honor of being well acquainted with the Gallows.”

“Marian’s younger sister is a mage, and their brother-” Merrill said hesitantly, but Hawke cut her off.

“Carver joined the Templar Order to keep Bethany safe.” Marian said shortly. “I didn’t understand at first, I thought he was just being an ass because I wouldn’t take him with me to the Deep Roads, but when there were more and more reports of what Meredith and her cronies were doing in the Gallows- Carver did something brave. Maker knows he was braver than me.” Marian took a deep swig of her wine.

Fenris, who had been watching Hawke as she spoke, piped up and said something. Half the words were Elvhen, but then, much to Anders’s surprise, Fenris said something in Common.

“Meredith was a magister, and her followers apprentices.” Fenris said decisively. Merrill translated what Fenris had said before he spoke in Common.

“Fenris said that you did what you could, Marian. No one could blame you for fighting Meredith when it was an impossible task.” Merrill explained. “And I agree. No one knew she would- you know.”

“Use a cursed artifact to bring statues to life and try to take over the city after wiping out the mages in the Gallows?” Marian asked dryly. “We’re lucky Knight Captain Cullen saw reason just in time and lowered the gates to prevent her from leaving the Gallows. Made it easier to take her down.”

“Wait, Knight Captain Cullen fought against his Commander?” Anders asked. By the books, stickler for the rules Cullen refused to obey a Knight Commander and actively prevented her from murdering mages? Cullen did that?

“At the end, yes. It was almost too late. He didn’t believe anyone for years, he turned a blind eye to all of Meredith’s activities- ugh. Now I’m pissed off.” Hawke muttered. “Maker damn the man, never met such a blockhead before in my life.”

“Never knew him to be an idiot, but time changes everyone.” Anders murmured, mostly to himself. What would he tell Evelyn about this? Your future husband is perhaps not as much of an ass as I feared, but I need to look further into it so don’t trust him in the slightest? Not exactly helpful advice. A warm hand on his drew Anders out of his thoughts, and he looked up into Fenris’s solemn face. While his expression was bland, his eyes were full of concern.

“Anders?” Fenris asked softly. Anders smiled and tried to relax.

“I am well. I’m just worried about a friend of mine. She’s in an arrangement like ours, but with Cullen.” Anders explained. “She’s the one who wrote that letter to you, Fenris.” Once Merrill had explained what Anders said to Fenris, he reached over and clasped Anders’s hand in his, a gesture that Anders found strangely reassuring. Fenris was comforting Anders, as if he meant something to Fenris. As if they were friends. It was a little gesture, but it thrilled Anders. Friends. That was what Anders had hoped for in a best case scenario, that he and Fenris could be friends in their marriage. Fenris said something that sounded confident and gentle, and while Anders didn’t know the words he knew the meaning well enough. Do not worry. All will be well.

“Fenris says to have faith in your friend.” Merrill said. “Believe that she will find her way.”

“Thank you, Fenris.” Anders murmured, and he gave the man a smile. When Fenris smiled back, Anders felt that all would be well.

When lunch was over they all returned to the table refreshed and ready to debate more aspects of the treaties. The sun was setting over the sea when they finally ended the council for the day. Anders’s head felt heavy, but he also felt satisfied and a little proud. He informed Mahariel of different Templar techniques so he could write to his clan and discuss the best way to defend their hunting grounds from invasion. He promised to write to Warden Commander Surana to gather more information on the Ferelden nobility in the region where Clan Lavellan resided. While Fenris argued for trading ironbark for wool with Kirkwall merchants, Anders began to develop the preliminary plans for a training program for potential healers. It did not seem like much, but Anders felt like they had accomplished something today.

“Tomorrow is a rest day, and we return to these talks the day after.” Merrill explained as the clan representatives departed. “Of course, you and Warden Nathaniel are planning to see the Gallows tomorrow, so it isn’t a rest day for you.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Anders sighed. “But it is a Warden matter, so Wardens must have a look at the island.”

“I will go.” Fenris announced. “With you.”

“To the Gallows? What about the creepy statue? All the Blight?” Anders asked. He had just thought it would be him and Nathaniel with Hawke as their guide, but Fenris wanted to tag along? Expected to join them? What was the reason for the sudden interest? Was it because he wanted to go along and see the statue? Or was because Anders was going, and Fenris wanted to spend time with him? Don’t be ridiculous, Anders told himself. Fenris was going purely because he felt responsible for Anders’s safety. That was the reason, and nothing more!

“Yes. I will go.”

“I- well, I… I don’t know what to say, Fenris.” Anders murmured.

“Nothing.” Fenris replied cheekily, and said a longer sentence in Elvhen before looking at Merrill expectantly. Merrill’s pale face was flushed pink as a rose, and Hawke was grinning.

“What did he say, Merrill? Oh, it has to be something good, you’re as red as a berry!” Hawke exclaimed gleefully.

“Fenris says- oh Creators he is impossible!” Merrill took a deep breath and composed herself. “Fenris says he does not want his delicate bird mage to over-exert himself, so he must look after your welfare.”

“Delicate?” Anders repeated dumbly. “I’m… delicate?”

“Yes. Good night, Bird Mage.” Fenris replied with a smile, and then he was gone, leaving him standing open mouthed because Fenris was beautiful when he grinned. His entire face changed, and his eyes- even his eyes smiled. 

Hawke whistled. “Damn, Fenris is a pretty man.”

“Yes he is.” Anders agreed. And he was going to marry him! Maker help him, Fenris would put him in an early grave if he teased and smiled at him like that every day!

“I think I will turn in tonight. Busy day tomorrow.” Anders said, and he made his way back to his chambers. Even after he prepared for bed and let the fire in the fireplace die, even after he had tucked himself under crisp, cool sheets and lay on the soft feather mattress, Anders could not sleep. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Fenris’s face, Fenris’s smile, the way Fenris’s eyes gleamed whenever he was amused, and then Anders's mind and heart raced. What did one do when the future no longer seemed ominous and bleak?

One takes a deep breath, a voice in his heart that sounded suspiciously like his dear Karl said. One takes a deep breath and enjoys what is to come.

Good advice, Anders thought, and when sleep finally came Anders was relaxed enough to welcome it like an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on dhea’him: Good day/Good Afternoon  
> ‘ma serannas: Thank you
> 
> I used another source for the elvhen language by katiebour, linked [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253/chapters/582281)! It's an excellent resource as well!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and feel free to leave comments and questions!


	5. The Gallows And Red Lyrium

The difficult part of preparing for any journey, Anders thought grimly as he lay the contents of his pack out on the freshly made bed, was that one never quite knew what to pack. There was no way of knowing what they might encounter within the Gallows, and Anders did not like the grim way Varric and Hawke looked at each other when they said it would be best not to linger on the island for long. And while Anders’s appreciated the way Fenris insisted on going along to “keep his skinny betrothed safe,” he was also wary of the way Fenris’s eyes turned dark and inward. They had all shared something in that place, Anders thought as he wrapped up a fresh bit of gauze and packed it away in a small pouch. Whatever experience bonded them together, it was not a pleasant one.

The stories of statues coming to life in the Gallows had to be just that, Anders told himself. Stories. Varric Tethras was a master of allegory, after all. The ancient statues of cowering slaves coming to life at the command of a Templar to destroy the resistance to her mad grab for power was a metaphor for absolute power corrupting absolutely! That had to be it!

“Just a literary device, nothing more.” Anders muttered as he shoved several potions into the loopholes of his pack. Two lyrium, five healing, one incendiary liquid in case they needed a few more seconds to retreat and get some much needed space between them and whatever enemy they might come across. Anders, his hands automatically packing the necessary items for a small trek into the Deep Roads, packed a flint and herbs for cooking along with small wooden utensils to help him cook. It was as Anders started looking around for his bedroll that his mind caught up with his hands, and he carefully unpacked all but the most necessary items: flint, extra bandages and potions, a woolen blanket, a collapsible cooking pot, wooden utensils, a few herbs, fishing line, and hooks. Just in case.

“Hopefully we’ll be back at the Keep before dark.” Anders muttered. But if things went wrong, he would be ready. He was a Warden, after all. He would always be prepared. As he had a few spare moments before Nathaniel would come in to fetch him, Anders crossed the room to his desk so he could write in his journal.

21st Day of Harvestmere 9:31 Dragon Age

Dear Karl,

I’m traveling to the Gallows today. No, I’m not looking forward to it. You told me all about the Gallows and I have no desire to walk into that terrible place. But it his abandoned and full of what feels like the Blight. I saw the glint of red stone that reflected the light like a ruby inside the Gallows courtyard as we sailed past, and it felt like the Blight.

The Blight feels like scratching inside my head. So do Darkspawn, but they are louder. Blight whispers, tugs at your mind like lyrium does, and combining those whispers with the knowledge that I am going to ruins of the most dreaded Circle in all of Thedas- Karl, if I wasn’t confident that Nathaniel would have my back I would run from the city and hide out in the mountains. It’s the Gallows, Karl. You know exactly why I don’t want to investigate it. I’m terrified of what I will find. Hawke might have reassured me that I won’t find any mage skeletons flung about (Varric apparently made sure that all the dead had proper burials), but I am still less than thrilled to go.

What I don’t understand is what happened in the Gallows. Hawke, Varric, Aveline, Isabela, Merrill, even Fenris tried to explain the events, but none of them make sense. Nathaniel and I have talked it over several times, and we can’t quite understand what happened beyond “weird shit happened.” It is mildly irritating, but the lack of clarity clearly infuriates Nathaniel. He likes clear explanations, and nothing about Kirkwall is clear. It’s the muddiest city and history, and we are both frustrated at the lack of explanations.

I will pray for some enlightenment today, Karl, but I doubt that I’ll have any revelations. Isabela will ferry us over to the island and wait for us. Nathaniel and I will be accompanied by Marian Hawke, Varric Tethras, and Fenris. Merrill cannot join us as she’s busy trying to smooth over tensions between some of the Dalish representatives, and Aveline is drilling the Guard on their new routes in the city. Lucky. I’d rather do paperwork or heal gout than go to the Gallows. But I hope that it will be a useful venture. I plan to ask those present a little more about Cullen, all in hopes that I can find something to help Evelyn prepare for her impending marriage. It would be a thousand times easier if Ser Cullen was the Ser Cullen you and Neria and I knew, but he’s not. He’s a stranger now.

Remember when we were in Kinloch, and you were teaching the new apprentice mages force magic? And I was assisting you? I’m sure you do, Karl, we taught the classes together more than enough times. Remember the one time we were teaching proper staff technique and I had just brought out my staff for a practical demonstration? Remember when Ser Cullen burst into the room, glared at me, and said “Enchanter Anders. Outside. Now.” in that ‘I’m angry and trying to hide it’ voice? I never did tell you what happened to make him so angry, did I? It was one of my little jokes, of course, just a minor thing that annoyed him. How was I to know that letting the pigs out of their pen on laundry day would get mud all over all the Templar surcoats and tabards? And, might I add, they stained quite a few mage robes too in the process so it wasn’t as it was an unequal practical joke. Still got assigned laundry duty for weeks because of that stunt.

In any case, the Ser Cullen who was grumpy but also willing to respect our authority in the classroom is long gone, Karl. I’m afraid of what remains, and I fear for my pupil. She’s an Enchanter from Ostwick. Was an Enchanter from Ostwick, but since Ostwick Circle disbanded she’s an Enchanter from nowhere. In any case she’s going to marry Cullen as part of a peace negotiation. I’ve decided to look into Cullen’s actions in Kirkwall, try to discover more about his time here, so I can warn her before she crosses his path. If I could write to you I know you would write a detailed report on everything you know. You were always more observant than me, Karl. But as I can’t ask you, I must ask everyone else. Hopefully someone will give me the answers I crave. Wish me luck, Karl, and I will write to you as soon as I get back.

All my love,

Anders

Anders had just corked the ink bottle when there was a sharp rap of knuckles on his door. Nathaniel, Anders thought with some fondness. Only Nathaniel Howe could make a knock sound mildly irritated and professional at the same time.

“Come on in, I’m fully dressed and un-compromised!” Anders shouted, and he let his lips tilt up in a smirk when Nathaniel walked into the room with a pink flush along the back of his neck and up his cheeks.

“There was no need to be crude, Anders.” Nathaniel muttered. “I was making sure you are ready for our mission.”

“More than ready, just thought I’d get a bit of writing done before we leave, you know.” Anders replied cheerfully, gesturing to his journal. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. If we are fortunate we will be back in Kirkwall long before sunset.” The way Nathaniel said it, it sounded as if he did not expect to be back in Kirkwall until tomorrow morning.

“Good. You packed a tarp just in case?” Anders asked.

“Two.” Nathaniel said. “Oilskins, in case of rain.”

“I have cooking gear and a fishing line.” Anders replied. “Herbs too, so our food will be edible.”

“Good.” Nathaniel grunted.

“Andraste’s Knickerweasels, I hope this doesn’t go like most of our day trips.” Anders said as they left the bedroom and he shut the door behind him.

“It will.” Nathaniel said with a gloomy air of defeatism. “When have our outings ever gone as planned?”

“This time may be different.” Anders said with a bit of forced optimism.

“It may be worse.” Nathaniel retorted.

“It could rain.” Anders teased. “Lighten up, Howe! Think of it as an adventure!” An adventure into the skeletal remains of the most feared place for mages, but still, an adventure! Anders would try to remain positive.

They met the rest of their company in the main hall. Varric had a crossbow strapped to his back and a pack hoisted up on his right shoulder, and he was telling some joke to Hawke. Marian Hawke carried two daggers crossed on her back, and her pack was placed at her feet. She grinned when she saw Nathaniel and Anders and waved.

“Our two favorite Wardens! Have a good night? Sleep well?” She asked brightly. “Hope we get some action today, even if it’s only some angry wildlife or a group of cultists. I hope it’s cultists, haven’t had a good fight in months!”

“I hope we don’t see anything. If there’s Blight on that island we’ll have enough problems.” Nathaniel muttered. Anders ignored the following conversation in favor of looking for Fenris. He spotted him near one of the pillars, speaking quietly to Merrill. Issuing orders of some kind, no doubt, because Merrill nodded her head and listened intently. Anders approached them, and Fenris greeted him with a small smile. His eyes felt hot on his skin.

“Good- good morning, Anders.” Fenris said quietly. His accent was thick, but his pronunciation solid. Anders felt his cheeks flush with heat. Fenris had a lovely voice.

“Good morning, Fenris.” Anders replied. “Are you ready for our trip?”

“Yes.” Fenris replied. “Bird mage worries?”

“How do you figure?”

“Circles. Tired.” Fenris gestured to Anders’s face before saying something in Elvhen that made Merrill squeak and turn crimson.

“What did he say now, Merrill?” Anders sighed.

“It’s highly improper by human standards!” Merrill said quickly. “It’s a compliment with the Dalish, I promise!” Anders was about to ask for clarification, but Fenris stepped closer and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“I make you rest when we hand fast.” Fenris promised, and the look in his eyes when he pulled away left no question as to what Fenris meant. He watched Fenris saunter away from them to join Hawke and Varric, and Anders knew his face was as red as ripe cherries. Make him rest, indeed! Fenris was going to tease him to death!

“It really is a compliment, Anders.” Merrill explained, clearly frazzled. “He finds you very interesting, and Fenris is- well, he’s-”

“Upfront?” Anders supplied helpfully, his voice hoarse. “Yes, I noticed.”

“He doesn’t see the point in trying to hide how he feels.” Merrill said a little miserably. “It’s what makes him a great war chief, but sometimes it is difficult to be his translator.”

“He seems to be making excellent progress with picking up Common.” Anders replied. Fenris was more fluent in Common than Anders was in Elvhen, though Anders promised he would study more diligently in the future.

“Fenris is a hard worker.” Merrill explained. “He wishes to give us all his best, and all of himself, to our cause.”

“He is admirable.” Anders said swiftly. “And I’m not at all offended.” Anders was, truth be told, flattered. Fenris found him interesting and attractive, and Anders found Fenris interesting and attractive. They could live together, work together, be a harmonious power couple- Anders didn’t think it was possible, but every day he spent with Fenris gave him hope. It may never blossom into love, Anders thought, but they were building a strong foundation for mutual affection. Anders looked forward to it.

“I’m glad you aren’t offended.” Merrill said with some relief. “Fenris does care for you. He may seem stern sometimes, but he cares very much.”

“Fenris? Stern? Have you heard him joke?” Anders asked, but he smiled and offered Merrill his hand. She accepted it, and they shook hands.

“We will be back before dinner, if all goes well.” Anders promised, and Merrill grinned.

“You keep our War Commander safe, Anders!” Merrill ordered cheerfully. Fenris, who was listening to Hawke talk, turned his head and gazed at Merrill and Anders quizzically. Merrill waved him away and headed out of the main hall towards a courtyard, and Anders walked over to stand by Nathaniel. Nathaniel began to outline their plan to walk the Gallows, but Varric held up a hand.

“Don’t worry, Warden, we’ll go into plans while on the boat. Long trip to the Gallows, you know. Long enough to have a proper talk.” Varric said. “So, everyone said their goodbyes?”

“Yes, and we should get going. It’s best not to wander around in Blight infested areas after dark. It’s more dangerous at night.” Anders explained. As they left the Keep and made their way down to the docks, Fenris slipped in right beside Anders at the back of the group.

“Bird mage demands much.” Fenris teased, and Anders couldn’t help but smile.

“Bird mage knows how to combat the Blight, so Bird Mage gets to be demanding.” Anders retorted. Fenris shrugged and continued to walk with him, and as they brushed past crowds of people Anders lowered his voice to speak with Fenris.

“So, I’m looking into information on one of the Templars who worked with Meredith. Her second in command. My friend is marrying him, as I told you yesterday, and she could use any help she can get.” Anders said softly, gazing down into Fenris’s earnest expression and deep green eyes and hoping he would understand what Anders wanted. “So if you know anything about Knight Captain Cullen, Fenris-”

“So what are you two whispering about?” Hawke called back. “Nothing too saucy, I hope.”

“Cullen.” Fenris replied shortly. Hawke made a slightly disgusted face.

“Him? Maker, not him again! Anders, don’t you have anyone better to talk about?” Hawke asked as she wrinkled her nose.

“It is urgent. My friend’s going to marry him.” Anders replied. “My mage friend- and don’t make that face at me, Nathaniel, you know I told Fiona that I disapproved of the match.” Nathaniel had frowned at Anders, and rolled his eyes when Anders explained his interest in Cullen.

“You are like a dog with a bone, Anders.” Nathaniel said dryly. “Gnawing at a problem until nothing is left.”

“Good. So if I gather some information on Cullen and his time in Kirkwall I can see how he’ll act around Evelyn. You know, our sheltered Circle mage? Marrying a Templar?” Anders snorted. “I have every right to look in on his activities.”

“Well, nug shit.” Varric said lowly. “That’s a miserable partnership in the making.”

“Miserable? What do you mean?” Nathaniel asked.

“Look, it isn’t my place to say what will and won’t work, but Ser Cullen didn’t strike me as the marrying type.” Varric said. “A hard worker, but he’d rather go it alone. Also not good at seeing what’s under his nose.”

“You’d kick his ass at Wicked Grace.” Hawke said with a laugh.

“Hawke, I’d kick anyone’s ass at Wicked Grace.” Varric replied with a smirk. “But yeah, Cullen’s an easy mark.”

“Sounds like him.” Anders muttered, and when Fenris gave him a slightly worried look Anders smiled and tried to reassure him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just worried for her. She’s so young, and trusts so easily.” Anders explained. “She’s family, you know.”

Fenris lifted his hand up and set it down on Anders’s shoulder.

“Trust in your friend.” Fenris said softly, and his hand was heavy and warm on Anders’s shoulder. He smiled, and the little gesture made Anders’s stomach do little flips.

“I’ll try.” Anders murmured. When Fenris looked at him like that, the world didn’t seem like it could be that bad of a place. Anders smiled down at Fenris, and when Fenris’s eyes lit up it was-

“Lovebirds! Hurry up, or Isabela will set sail without you!” Hawke shouted. Anders took Fenris’s hand and picked up the pace so they wouldn’t be separated by the crush of the crowd, even as a flush settled high on his cheeks. Fenris’s hand was interesting, covered in calluses. His grip was strong, but it didn’t hurt, and when Anders looked back to Fenris he smiled indulgently and gave his hand a quick, comforting squeeze. 

When they eventually regrouped with their companions at the docks Nathaniel gave Anders the Nathaniel Howe Look, raising an eyebrow and looking down his rather impressive nose at Anders. Anders shrugged. The Nathaniel Howe Look meant that he would have to deal with a Nathaniel Howe Lecture on propriety and proper decorum of engaged couples in public places, completely ignoring the fact that Anders was not a gently bred noblewoman marrying a gentleman, and that they were already engaged. Nathaniel was fussy about propriety. Nathaniel was just fussy, full stop.

“Adorable.” Isabela announced when she caught sight of Fenris and Anders and their interlocked hands. “There’s a meadow up in the highlands above Kirkwall you boys can skip through once you’re done investigating the Fade Cursed Isle.”

“Isabela.” Hawke drawled, her voice turning the name into a musical trill. “We’re going to the Gallows, it’s as cursed as any part of Kirkwall.”

“We’re ass deep in curses in Kirkwall.” Varric replied. “Depending on the ass.”

“And we’re going right to the most cursed of the cursed spots.” Isabela retorted. “Disgusting.” She grimaced and stepped off the dock and onto a rope ladder.

“Well, get aboard! I’m not staying moored by that island after dark!” Isabela called back as she clambered up into the ship.

“We’re not getting any younger.” Varric said with a shrug, and he climbed up the ladder. Hawke followed, followed by Nathaniel. Fenris gestured for Anders to get up before following him. Once they were inside the ship, Isabela grabbed a rope and began to saw at it. Hawke lifted a small anchor up from the side of the ship, and once Isabela adjusted the sails a faint breeze pushed them further into open waters. Anders uncorked his flask and poured in a good measure of mead into the seas. Libations to the Maker, and he offered an extra prayer for good fortune. They were headed towards the Gallows, they needed all the luck they could get.

“We’ve got a bit of a rough sea today.” Isabela shouted. “There will be rain tonight.”

“Wonderful.” Nathaniel muttered.

“We’ll be back before nightfall.” Anders said reassuringly, but he doubted it. Everything that went wrong on a Warden trip tended to happen.

“If we can’t sail in because of the storm Isabela will steer us out into open sea.” Hawke assured them both as she walked past them. “Keep away from the Gallows and all that.”

“The Gallows are that dangerous?” Anders asked.

“Yes. Extremely.” Fenris answered. “Cursed.” He went to join Isabela, Hawke, and Varric at the wheel, leaving the two Wardens alone to talk.

“They keep saying that word. Cursed.” Nathaniel frowned. “Didn’t take any of them as a superstitious lot.”

“If there was ever a place haunted by vengeful ghosts and curses, it would be The Gallows.” Anders said grimly. Former slave market and site of executions, the living place of so many oppressed mages, the place where so many mages were tortured and abused and died- the island would be cursed. If only it had sunk into the sea like the slave statues.

“We need a plan.” Nathaniel said quietly. “We can’t all go on the island. The Blight is-”

“Infectious. I know. But we need guides.” Anders pointed out calmly. “We need them.”

“Anders, I do not approve.” Nathaniel sniffed. 

“Neither do I. As a healer I think this is utter stupidity. As a Warden I dislike putting others into danger. But look at them, Nathaniel.” Anders gestured to the group of four across the deck. “Do you think we can force them to stay behind while we go into danger?”

“Perhaps not. Your future husband will certainly not allow it.” Nathaniel said dryly. “He was staring at your backside as you climbed up here.”

“Pity I wasn’t wearing my robes, then.” Anders retorted. “Could have given him a show.”

“Anders!” Nathaniel hissed under his breath.

“Lighten up, Howe. We’re going to fuck eventually.” Anders declared. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Anders, not so loud or crude, if you would.” Nathaniel replied with a groan.

“He’s a handsome man, we’re getting married, it’s all for promoting good relations between our peoples. And releasing tensions. You could probably do with a little tension releasing, Howe.” Anders said with a little smirk and wiggle of his fingers.

“You are impossible.” Nathaniel muttered. “I will speak with Hawke and Captain Isabela about our intended trip into the Gallows.” Nathaniel left, but Anders followed.

“And I will inform them to remain in a group and not touch anything.” Anders replied. “Healer’s orders. Blight Sickness means quarantine, and possibly murdering them and burning the body to prevent it spreading. Most unpleasant.”

“Is there any cure?” Nathaniel asked, more out of habit than anything. Manners were drilled into Howes, often before they could walk. Nathaniel could always be counted on to ask a polite question at the right time.

“As far as we know? Nothing but the Joining.” Anders replied. “I’ve been looking into it, so who knows? Perhaps in a few years…” There was always a chance there would be a breakthrough, and then there would be no more Blight Sickness, no more Blight. And if the sickness could be cured, perhaps the Joining could be broken- but all such topics belonged to the future.

“So our plan is this: we walk the perimeter of the island, you do your Warden business, and we cheerfully walk out and sail back to Kirkwall.” Hawke said when Anders and Nathaniel joined them at the wheel. “We’re back before supper.”

“I agree with your initial plan, Lady Hawke, but we must follow the source of the Blight. When we reach the island we will begin a careful survey of the land, and then venture deeper inland to investigate. You and your companions will remain aboard, as this is Warden business-“

“Andraste’s Tits, Nathaniel, we can let them come along.” Anders retorted. “They’re going to tell us all about the events that happened here, their presence is useful and necessary.” 

“Exactly! We’re not staying behind! Except for Isabela, because she’s going to stay on the boat.” Hawke said with a smile.

“So we can sail away like demons are chasing you when you lunatics decide to leave.” Isabela replied breezily. “You’ll probably have demons chasing you, I hear the Veil’s thin at the Gallows now.”

“It would be thin regardless. Always is in Circles. It’s all those Harrowings. Making a mage go into the Fade to fight a demon, there will always be an effect on the waking world.” Anders explained. “I’m not at all surprised the barrier would be fragile here.”

“All the same, I’m not going to mess around on the Gallows.” Isabela retorted. “Which, you can see, is now on your left.”

Anders turned to his left, staring at the rapidly approaching island. There was the glint of red between the crumbling walls, the remains of broken staffs and cracked Templar shields and rusted swords laying out on the island. The wind whistled through the remaining walls, and it sounded like the wails of a ghost. Cursed was the only adjective to properly describe the place. It was haunted and cursed.

“I don’t like it.” Nathaniel muttered. “It’s a desolate ruin, and even more so up close.”

“Imagine, Nathaniel, if you were forced to live here for the remainder of your life.” Anders retorted quietly. “This is the shit we mages had to put up with. Creepy places, soulless guards who never talk to you unless it’s to drag you up for questioning, everyone expecting you to do something wrong and evil-”

“The structure itself is enough to drive one mad.” Nathaniel said.

“Plenty of mages do go mad in Circles.” Anders replied. “The Chantry is just good at hushing it all up.”

The fell silent as Isabela steered them closer, and she rushed to the sails and dropped them so they no longer caught the wind. The boat still cut through the waves as they began to approach the island, Isabela returning to the wheel and slowly turning it. Controlling the rudder? Maker, Anders knew nothing about boats! But as the island drew closer, the boat began to slow down more and more until they were barely moving forward, and Isabela had turned them so the side of the boat was barely kissing the dock.

“Hawke, anchor!” Isabela called out.

“Already on it.” Hawke replied, and she dropped the anchor. The ship creaked and shifted with the waves, but they were no longer moving forward in the choppy sea. They had stopped. Anders adjusted the pack on his back and his staff as Isabela lowered the rope ladder.

“Better get down now, and hurry up with your search.” Isabela said, and despite the lightness in her delivery there was a worried look on her face. Hawke smiled and gripped Isabela’s upper arm tightly.

“Don’t worry, you sit tight out here and we’ll be back soon.” Hawke promised, and she dropped off the edge of the boat and slid down the rope ladder.

“Don’t sail off without us. I’m not the greatest swimmer.” Varric joked before he followed Hawke down. Nathaniel followed after him, and before Anders could follow Fenris cut in and lowered himself down. Before he went completely over, he met Anders’s surprised gaze and- how odd- a faint pink tinge flushed over his face.

“Safer. Can catch you if you fall.” Fenris muttered, and before Anders could reply Fenris was clambering down the rope ladder. Isabela chuckled.

“Well, you’ve gotten Fenris all protective. What did you do, Anders?” Isabela asked. Anders rolled his eyes and gripped the rope of the ladder.

“I’ve just been his friend, that’s all.” Anders replied. “See you soon, Isabela.” Anders descended down the ladder and was on solid ground.

“It is larger from this angle.” Nathaniel remarked. “I did not realize.”

“Pretty damn impressive, before it was torn into the ocean.” Hawke said, a smug little smile on her face. “It made a good splash when those stones and statues fell.”

Anders felt the Blight tug at him, whispering in his head, scratching and scratching and wanting to devour everything- but there was something else as well, something familiar. The hum of lyrium. He glanced over to Nathaniel, who obviously felt the Blight but wouldn’t feel the lyrium And the hum of the lyrium was distorted. Instead of the harmonious thrill that it usually presented to every mage, it was a discordant, harsh melody ringing in Anders’s ears. But there was another source of lyrium close by, Anders realized. A pure source, very close and soothing and- Fenris’s hand rested on Anders’s shoulder.

“Anders?” Fenris murmured, but Anders was fixated on the white scars on Fenris’s fingers, his arms, up his body and on his chin- but they weren’t scars, were they? Anders had thought the little hum and thrill that went through his body at every touch was just his reaction to a handsome man paying attention to him. But it wasn’t just that, was it? Fenris’s marks were not scars or tattoos.

It was lyrium.

“Fenris, you’re going to have to stay close to me.” Anders whispered. “Whatever is in there, it’s lyrium that sounds like the Blight, so you and I need to stay close. Don’t touch anything.”

“Demanding.” Fenris teased, but he remained close to Anders as they began to pick through the rubble and ruins of the Gallows. Hawke and Varric led them through the main gates, and Varric pointed up to the twisted metal and crumbled stones.

“When the fighting started and Meredith ordered the Rite of Annulment, Little Hawke oversaw the evacuation of mages and the wounded before returning to fight with us. Cullen shut the gates to prevent Meredith and her followers from escaping the Gallows. Locked us all in.”

“Aveline would say that he’s the type to see all problems as nails or something. Drove her crazy when he’d just enter the town to take custody of supposed blood mages. No respect for Kirkwall’s laws.” Hawke explained. “It’s a good thing Carver was there to think of the people, Cullen would have locked everyone in with Meredith.”

“That would have been a disaster.” Nathaniel murmured, gazing up at the gate. It looked like something had tried to break the thing down from the inside. The twisted metal and broken wood sprayed out, towards the sea. Anders tried not to shudder but failed. What sort of creature could cause such damage? Not even a brood mother could tear open those gates.

“It was that damned red lyrium. Fucking Bartrand.” Varric muttered. “Should’ve shot the bastard when he left us in the Deep Roads.”

“He was your brother, Varric. Of course you trusted him-” Hawke said soothingly.

“Deep Roads? You have Deep Roads nearby?” Anders’s voice nearly broke. He never did well in the Deep Roads. It wasn’t that he had no courage, but when he thought of the dark and the tunnels and the damp, he panicked.

“Not that close, but close enough. We found some maps and thought we’d collect on the treasure buried within. That’s where we found the red lyrium idol. Bartrand, my brother, took the idol and locked us- Hawke, Aveline, Isabela, and myself- down below to die.”

“We got out, eventually, but Bartrand had disappeared with the idol. We found out later that he sold it to Meredith. And the results are- well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Hawke said ominously.

They emerged between stone towers that were black with soot to find themselves in an enormous courtyard. Weeds were already pushing through the cracks in the cobblestone, and the grass underfoot was thick from the summer rainy season. A cold breeze cut through the hollow buildings. The skeleton of the structures still stood, but the flesh had been stripped away. The remains of enormous statues lay broken on the ground, the twisted forms and faces shattered. Anders picked his way around the stones to approach the center of the courtyard and what lay at the center.

It was the statue of a woman, arms outstretched, face lifted to the sky, mouth open in a howl of rage and agony. A pointed star crown akin to what artists always put on Andraste was on her brow, and everything, from the woman’s face and hands to her crown and armor, was carved out of the glowing red stone. The stone sang like lyrium and Blight.

“This is the source of the Blight on the island.” Nathaniel whispered. “It stinks of it.”

“No one come any closer.” Anders ordered. “Blight is infectious and we are not going to expose ourselves to it.”

“It’s red lyrium, same stuff as the idol. Meredith attached it to her sword and it gave her- well, it gave her the powers of a mage, if we’re perfectly honest. Creation magic or something, she was able to bring the statues in the courtyard to life.” Hawke explained. “Almost squashed us to death with those, until Fenris took out their legs.”

Anders glanced over to Fenris, who managed to look a little smug. Fenris clearly understands Common, Anders thought, but he is reluctant to speak it. Perhaps he doesn’t like his accent? Anders wasn’t sure, but he knew he would have time to figure it out in the future.

“Nathaniel, what do we tell Surana?” Anders whispered.

“She will want to know about the red lyrium and its connection to the Blight. She will also want to know that it was found in the Deep Roads.” Nathaniel said quietly.

“And she’ll have to resume contact with Weisshaupt to inform them of our findings.” Anders added. “Which she’ll be pissed about.”

“Weisshaupt never should have ordered her to ignore the war on her doorstep.” Nathaniel retorted. “Their indifference nearly got all of us killed. They should be grateful she hasn’t decided to take over the place herself.”

“The Hero of Ferelden would challenge all the Grey Wardens?” Hawke asked.

“She already has. Amaranthine’s Wardens are technically still Grey Wardens. We’re just rogue Grey Wardens.” Anders explained. “Wardens not associating with the leadership at the moment.”

“Might have informed us of that a little sooner, don’t you think?” Varric said dryly.

“Once you join the Grey Wardens you can’t quit. I’d be glad to trade the nightmares and Darkspawn off to someone who wants it, but it just doesn’t happen.” Anders replied. “I’m not surprised that Weisshaupt is keeping Surana’s defection quiet. Can’t have it be known that the greatest hero of the age left the order.”

“I knew.” Fenris said with no small amount of smugness.

“Excuse me?” Nathaniel asked, his eyebrows shooting up so far up his forehead that Anders wondered if they would pop off his face and fly away.

“Wardens are neutral parties. Amaranthine was not neutral. Amaranthine’s Wardens left the other Wardens behind.” Fenris shrugged. “Easy to talk to Amaranthine and make a binding with the Dalish.”

“When he says it like that it’s all too simple.” Varric muttered. “Smug little bastard.”

“Yes.” Fenris agreed, and he tugged on Anders’s hand to lead him away from the terrifying red lyrium statue that was the former Knight Commander Meredith Stannard.

They stayed in the courtyard for hours, longer than planned. The sun was setting when they finished their explorations, and Anders realized that it was highly unlikely that they would return to the city by supper time. He and Nathaniel had investigated the entire island for Blight, and the only source they found was the red lyrium statute of Meredith. They interrogated Hawke, Varric, and Fenris thoroughly, and it seemed like the lyrium had neither expanded nor retracted. Anders insisted on moving all of them as far away from the lyrium as possible just in case in was infectious, and warned them multiple times not to touch it.

“No argument from me, Blondie. Stuff drives people mad, I’m not about to do any experimenting.” Varric said.

“We should take a sample back to Kirkwall.” Nathaniel argued. “You can look into it and discover what has tainted the lyrium, or if it is a source of the Blight-”

“Absolutely not. That lyrium turned a woman into a statue. I’m not about to drag a chunk of it into an unprotected city and infect someone else!” Anders exclaimed, killing the thought before it could go any further.

They returned to the ship as the wind began to pick up. The waves were high, and Anders, who had never interacted much with the ocean beyond wading in the waves and sunning on the beach in Amaranthine when it was warm, was a little intimidated by the size of the waves. They were going to sail through that? As they approached the dock and the boat, Isabela popped her head out of one of the windows below deck. She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and pointed to the gathering clouds above.

“I warned you, Hawke! Stormy seas ahead!” She shouted as Hawke scrambled up the rope ladder hanging off the side.

“And we’ll just sail off and moor off the coast somewhere nice. Like that cute little cave you found. That’s a nice spot.” Hawke yelled back. “We can snuggle in your cabin and let everyone else fight over the scraps!”

“The grotto where you just rooted out smugglers last week?” Varric shouted as he clambered up the side of the ship.

“Yes! It’s nice, no one will be there, it’s well protected- we spend the night and set sail in the morning. Sound good?” Hawke asked, but it didn’t seem like a question. Just like Surana, Anders thought with a smile. Hawke already decided what the plan would be, and she was telling them how it would be.

“Sounds like our only option.” Nathaniel muttered before he climbed up the ladder. Anders followed, Fenris right behind him, and soon enough they were on their way, sailing west towards limestone cliffs.

“There’s a grotto carved out of the cliffs, big enough for the ship.” Isabela shouted over the howling wind. “Well protected, and we can hide out until the morning when the storm eases.”

“Is it bad?” Anders asked. The wind was ferocious, biting at his skin and whipping his hair into his eyes.

“Just a squall! We’ll be fine!” Isabela answered, and she fell silent. She needed to focus on steering them to safety, Anders thought, and he kept his mouth shut. The cliffs grew larger and larger, and as Isabela steered them closer Anders spied the dark cavern, a gaping black maw in the white cliffs. Quite frightening, Anders thought as they coasted into the darkness of the cave. It was dark and damp. Anders cast a weak mage light so everyone on the boat could unpack and settle. 

Everyone set their weapons and packs down on the deck. Isabela set up a metal cookbox from belowdecks, and used her flint and dry kindling from below to start a fire. While Nathaniel methodically set out his rations with Hawke and Varric, Anders gestured to Fenris.

“We’ll gather something to eat. Fish, crabs- whatever’s out at the moment.” Anders said, and he tried not to laugh at Fenris’s disgusted expression when Anders suggested they eat fish. Fenris rolled his eyes and followed Anders down the ladder.

“Don’t wander too far!” Varric yelled down to them.

“We won’t!” Anders shouted back, and he and Fenris swam, then waded through water and onto the sandy beach. It was cold, Anders thought, but it would be colder if they didn’t move, catch dinner, and quickly return to the ship.

“I don’t want to venture out in the storm by boat.” Anders told Fenris. “Too windy, and we could get lost in this rain.” Fenris grunted in response, and muttered something in Elvhen.

“Not exactly a cheerful sail on a pleasure boat, is it?” Anders joked.

“No.” Fenris said sourly.

“We’ll get back soon and we can get you nice and warm, Fenris. I’ve got a spare tunic in my pack, and a wool blanket.” Anders promised. They walked further along the shore, and every time Anders spied a crab he’d freeze the little creature with ice and deposit it in a makeshift bag he created with a piece of oilskin and rope. Fenris shuddered as he looked at the crabs, and though it could have been the cold, Anders was certain it was at the thought of eating seafood. He had not forgotten the way Fenris had so carefully gotten rid of his trout and fed one of the cats in the keep. Perhaps there was something he could do about the lack of a diverse meal, Anders thought, and he gestured to the cave opening.

“I’ve got an idea!” Anders explained. “Come on!” He ran to the entrance of the cave and looked out. The weather was stormy, with high winds and surprisingly heavy rains, but Anders saw what he wanted. Sea birds and nests up along the cliff. If he was careful and climbed slowly, he could fetch a few eggs and possibly grab a bird. He’d done it before, Anders thought with some overblown confidence, ignoring the fact that he was a boy of ten the last time he climbed cliffs for bird eggs, and he had not climbed up those cliffs in the pouring rain. He handed the bag to Fenris and, after rolling up his shirt sleeves, began to climb.

Anders nearly slipped three times (almost four, but he hardly counted the last one) before he reached the nest. There was no bird present at the time, but there were three eggs. Three was good, Anders thought, but not nearly enough. Anders slipped the eggs into the empty pouch in his belt, where they would be safe. He looked down at Fenris who was waiting below, looking up at him with those bright green eyes. Should he venture further and risk more, or be content with what he had gathered? Anders never thought of himself as a cautious fellow, but the wind and rain and Fenris’s anxious expression urged him to hurry down the cliff. He jumped the last bit down, and Fenris was on him in an instant, checking his hands and scolding him in that musical language.

“Fool! Little fool!” Fenris spat out, but Anders still saw the worry in his face and didn’t take offense. Perhaps it was foolish of him to climb up slick cliffs when it was wet. Anders grabbed Fenris’s hand and held it tightly in his own.

“Scold me when we’re out of the rain, Fenris.” Anders said, and he dragged Fenris back into the grotto. Anders’s legs were longer than Fenris’s, but Fenris walked faster than he did and soon it was Fenris pulling Anders along instead of the other way around. When they reached the boat, Fenris made Anders climb up the ladder first, and then he followed him up. Anders handed the eggs and bag full of crabs to Nathaniel before reaching into his own pack and pulling out the wool blanket and spare tunic from within.

“Fenris, here.” Anders shoved the tunic into Fenris’s hands. “I won’t have you catch a cold.” Fenris frowned and grabbed Anders’s hand. He walked across the deck and opened up a door in the floor.

“Oi, Fenris!” Hawke shouted. “What you doing?”

“Getting warm.” Fenris replied, and Anders’s face flushed at the ideas that flashed in his mind like lightning when he thought of Fenris and himself warming up together.

“Don’t take too long!” Isabela teased.

“Nathaniel, don’t touch the eggs, those are for Fenris!” Anders yelled before Fenris dragged him below the deck. Once they were below, Fenris undid his metal breastplate and his gauntlets, placing them on an armor rack near the stairs- how did Fenris know where that would be? Had he sailed on this smaller ship before? When he stripped out of his sopping wet tunic, Anders covered Fenris with the wool blanket and began to dry him. While he was drying him, Anders got a closer look at the lyrium markings covering Fenris’s body.

The marks wound up and down his torso, arms, and neck like vines, the dots like berries or flowers on Fenris’s skin. Anders found them beautiful, but they were horrifying as well. Who would choose to have lyrium put into their skin? No one, Anders thought. No one would. Someone did this to Fenris, someone cruel and powerful. The lyrium in Fenris was the purest Anders had ever encountered. But it had to hurt. Lyrium could cause burns if people were exposed to it over long periods of time, and the way it was inserted into Fenris’s skin just screamed infection waiting to happen. When Anders looked closely, he saw evidence of former infections in Fenris’s skin.

“Enough.” Fenris muttered, tugging the blanket over his skin, covering the marks from Anders’s view. Anders realized he had been staring for too long without saying anything. He must have embarrassed Fenris. Anders held out the tunic and Fenris quickly shrugged it on while Anders took off his pauldron and surcoat. He hung them up next to Fenris’s armor. Someone (Anders suspected Isabela) had already put away their weapons on a weapon’s rack. When Fenris was finally dry and dressed, he made to move up the stairs. Anders stopped him, lightly laying his hand on Fenris’s arm.

“I can help with the marks. They have to hurt. I can make an ointment to stop the pain.” Anders offered quietly. Fenris shook his head and pulled his arm away.

“Not now.” Fenris said shortly. “Later. In Kirkwall.”

“Yes. Of course. Merrill can help us then.” Anders replied. “And I’m sorry for staring. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Fenris shrugged and went above decks, and Anders couldn’t help but feel that he hit a stone wall in his interactions with Fenris. There were some lines that simply could not be crossed. The lyrium markings, it seemed, was one of those lines.

When Anders finally arrived on deck after he dried himself off some, Nathaniel was already using spices from his pack to fix the crabs. Isabela was poking her nose into his business and telling him exactly what to do while Hawke was stirring up something in a ceramic bowl. Fenris sat near the cook box and pointedly ignored Anders.

“Flat bread.” Hawke said cheerfully when she saw Anders looking. “Packed some flour, and all we really needed was some oil and water to get an easy dough.”

“Good idea. I’m going to fix some eggs for Fenris, he doesn’t seem all that fond of seafood.” Anders said. Hawke grinned and, in a somewhat childish whisper, began to sing a Ferelden folk tune.

“And where you go I follow,

Forever plus tomorrow,

To cook your meals and warm your pillow,

My cheery travelin’ fellow!”

“Hawkes shouldn’t sing, you can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Varric joked as he sat down next to the cook box.

“Bethany can sing just fine! She’s got a beautiful voice!” Hawke protested loudly.

“No, sweet thing, Bethany has plenty of talents, but singing is not one of them.” Isabela said with a chuckle. “Now come over here near the fire and warm up.” Hawke carried the bowl over to the cook box and sat next to Isabela, carefully taking small balls of the dough into her hands and patting them into flat discs. Anders joined them, and Fenris scooted slightly away from him as Nathaniel began to cook the crabs. Anders pulled out a small iron pan and took the eggs from the pouch next to the bag with the crabs. He cracked them and spiced them with salt and pepper before slowly frying them over an open flame. Once the whites were firm and the yolk gleamed golden, Anders pulled the pan off the fire. He scraped the eggs off the pan and placed them on a small wooden plate Nathaniel had placed near the cook box.

“I was planning to use those for the crabs.” Nathaniel said dryly.

“I’m not about to hand Fenris a hot pan to eat from.” Anders retorted. “Fenris, here.” Anders held the plate out to Fenris and, after a moment of hesitation, Fenris took it. Anders smiled at him, and Fenris shyly smiled back. It seemed that Anders’s earlier nosiness was now forgiven. Hawke finished cooking the flatbread on Anders’s iron skillet, and handed out the hot pieces of bread once they were golden brown. Fenris dipped chunks of the flatbread into the egg yolk before neatly eating his meal. Anders munched on the crab Nathaniel cooked, along with the bread. They all drank from a wineskin and swapped tales of their adventures. Anders relaxed, sitting back and just enjoying his time among friends. When it was finally time to sleep, Isabela doused the fire in the cook box and led everyone down below to rest in their bunks. There were several bunks in the long, narrow hallway, and at the end of the hall was a door.

“I’ve got the Captain’s Quarters, as is my right.” Isabela joked. “Hawke, with me.”

“Hmm, sleepover.” Hawke said sleepily, and Isabela smiled so fondly that Anders wondered if there was something more beyond friendship between the two women.

“Let’s get you in bed, then.” Isabela crooned, and she led Hawke into her quarters and shut the door behind her.

“I call bottom bunk.” Varric said automatically. “I’d get tangled up in a hammock and I hate heights.” He settled into his claimed bunk and shut his eyes, as if pretending to sleep.

“Hammock for me.” Nathaniel stated. “I’ll hit my head otherwise.” Nathaniel grabbed a hammock hanging on a hook and strung it up further away from the bunks. He probably needed his privacy, Anders realized. Nathaniel tended to get a bit overwhelmed by all the closeness and companionship of parties that traveled together. Nobility seemed to operate on their lonesome, and Nathaniel was certainly more introverted than Anders was. It wasn’t like he would find much alone time here in a crowded ship, but Anders supposed Nathaniel was just quietly making do.

This left more than a few open bunks, and Anders picked a top one across the way from Varric’s bottom bunk. Fenris, much to Anders’s surprise, climbed up onto the top of the bunk next to Anders. When Anders lay down, Fenris turned so his head was next to Anders. When Anders rolled onto his stomach, Fenris looked up at him. It was a little strange to look at Fenris from above, Anders thought, and upside down as well. The angle was new, as was the sense of juvenile intimacy. This was like back in the Circle, Anders thought, when we were children, just apprentices and not Enchanters, where we had shared dormitory halls where we all slept together. Anders valued his privacy now, but he now realized that he missed having people about when he slept. There was a sense of comfort in knowing that there were other people, people who liked you and wanted the best for you, sleeping next to you.

“Thank you for the meal.” Fenris whispered. “It was good.”

“Any time, Fenris.” Anders said. “If it wasn’t so awful outside we could have tried for a seabird or rabbit.” Next time, Anders promised himself.

“Hmmm. Good night, Anders.” Fenris murmured sleepily, and he shut his eyes. Before Anders could roll over and do the same, Fenris’s hand shot out and ruffled his hair. A lazy, satisfied smirk slid across Fenris’s face.

“Soft.” Fenris said decisively, and then he seemed to fall asleep. Anders rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Fenris, he thought, enjoyed teasing him far too much! As soon as he got his feet back underneath him he would retaliate and unsettle Fenris right back! Anders fell asleep plotting every possible way he could tease and fluster his future husband.

They sailed back into Kirkwall’s harbor that morning. The sun was bright and the sky clear, as if the storm of yesterday had never existed. The sea was smoother than yesterday too. At least, Anders thought that it was smoother. It was a mostly silent trip, everyone a little too tired and eager to return to the city to converse much. Fenris kept close to Anders while they watched the city come into view.

Once they were docked and unboarded, the group dragged themselves up the many winding streets and stairs to the Keep. Everyone made their ways to their rooms to get clean and rest. Anders was going to wait for Nathaniel to finish bathing in the guest bathing chamber before he went in and washed up, but a young servant with freckles and auburn hair showed Anders a second bathing chamber closer to his room.

“It’s part of your guest suite, Warden Anders.” The young boy explained. “And I can take that dirty surcoat if you leave it on the bench outside the door. My mum will get it clean in two shakes of a nug’s tail!”

“Thank you for your assistance, young man.” Anders said. “I’ll be glad to be clean.”

Soaking in the large stone tub had its appeal, Anders thought with some glee once he entered the hot water that someone had already drawn for him. The closest he had ever come to such luxury was when he and Sigrun stumbled upon a natural hot spring while on patrol. The whiff of sulfur was a price worth paying when the hot mineral water melted away their aches and pains.

“This is much nicer. No bugs, no algae, just clean water and soap.” Anders thought before ducking his head under the water. He scrubbed at his body with a soap that smelled of cinnamon and ginger, and washed his hair with the same. He let himself soak for some time, drowsy and content like a kitten with a full belly and a warm spot of sun. When the water was lukewarm Anders unplugged the tub and used the brass spout to get more blessedly hot water. He filled up a large jug nearby and dumped it over himself, repeating the process until he was certain he was clean. Once done Anders dried himself with fluffy towels and put on his bathing robe. Once he entered his room Anders flung himself across the bed and shut his eyes.

Surana would expect her letter soon, Anders thought. Nathaniel would already be writing his report, and Anders would have to follow with his own observations. And Fiona was probably impatiently waiting for a progress report on their meetings with the Dalish and his impending wedding (nearly a fortnight away now, Anders realized with some trepidation). Fiona would expect a follow up to a short letter he had already written and sent to her. They needed their letters, Anders realized, and the sooner the better. Now, who to write to first?

Evelyn would be more than halfway across Ferelden by now- would a letter from him even reach her before she arrived in Haven? Anders had more than enough to write something to her. He had been asking after Cullen and his activities in Kirkwall all week, and had probably driven half the keep mad with his questions, especially since he kept getting the same responses. Ser Cullen was withdrawn. Ser Cullen kept to himself. Ser Cullen was devoted to the Order. The same boring, tired responses from almost everyone, at it drove Anders batty. The only people who dared to go into any great depth were those who were close friends to Varric and Hawke. Anders sat up on his bed and stumbled over to his desk.

“If I don’t write to her now I’ll never have it done.” Anders muttered. He’d continue digging up dirt on Cullen, determined to find something horrible that would break their treaty and keep Evelyn safe, and in the process he would make his friend even less safe by not arming her with information. Anders pulled out a piece of thick parchment, dipped his quill into the ink bottle, and began to write.

Dear Evelyn, My Favorite (and only) Pupil,

I wish I could give you glad tidings and reassurances that all will be well, but we both know that platitudes and coddling aren’t your style. You need and deserve the truth, and while I can be a harsh man I also do my best to be fair. But as an added precaution I urge you to write to Warden Commander Neria Surana for more information on your future spouse. She will be more even handed with her observations than I ever could be. I have also supplemented my tales with information I have gathered from Kirkwall. I have asked all those in my company whom I trust to give a (mostly) honest account of Ser Cullen Rutherford’s behavior and mental state during his time in Kirkwall. I will try to be honest and impartial, for you deserve my honesty and my best efforts. Just don’t expect too much from me, as I am only a human man and often fall short.

While Surana will be able to furnish you with the particulars, Cullen Rutherford was in Kinloch Hold when it fell. I am certain you’ve heard the rumors as much as I have. The Circle was overrun with demons, and with the Blight throwing the country into chaos the Circle was utterly cut off. Cullen was one of the few survivors. I have no doubt the experience traumatized him. The Templars being Templars and the Chantry being the Chantry, no one saw fit to let him take leave or rest after his ordeal. He was sent to Kirkwall the moment his wounds healed.

I have it on good authority from the Champion of Kirkwall herself that Cullen was difficult to work with. Her own younger sister was sent to the Circle, and her younger brother joined the Templars to keep his sister safe. Marian Hawke did not have the most charitable view of Ser Cullen, or as he was called here in Kirkwall, Knight Captain Cullen. I am certain Hawke’s siblings, who saw more of Ser Cullen than she did, would have a better grasp of his mental state and demeanor, but as they are both away on diplomatic missions for Kirkwall I asked more questions of more people. The answers are not pleasant or satisfactory, but perhaps they will prepare you for what lies ahead.

Varric Tethras, the new Viscount of Kirkwall, says that Cullen was ‘a hard worker, but unwilling to see what was right in front of his nose.’ Varric also bragged that he could probably fleece the man in Diamondback or Wicked Grace, but Varric is unnaturally good at cards. He also cheats. In any case, Varric’s opinion was carefully neutral. I think he saw that I was fishing for information, and he kept his cards close to his chest, which he seems to enjoy displaying for the world to swoon over. I think the hair fled his face and made its home on his rather impressive span of chest.

Aveline Vallen, Captain of The Kirkwall Guard, muttered something about Cullen always breaking Kirkwall law to follow Templar decrees. She praised his devotion to hunting down blood mages and abominations in Kirkwall, and claimed that it was a common problem in Kirkwall. Captain Vallen did not appreciate how Knight Captain Cullen would run rampant in the streets to dispense Templar order without a care for the denizens of the city. As much as it annoys me to write it, I confess to being surprised by Captain Vallen’s description. The Ser Cullen I knew was devoted to his responsibilities, but he had always put the people’s safety over completing his mission. I suppose time changes us all.

Captain Isabela was not as informative as I would have hoped. She cracked some jokes and said that Cullen was a handsome, strapping young man with the spirit of a grumpy old man at the helm. Such a shame, she had said, but as I grew up with the man I simply can’t see it. He was a curly haired irritant at Kinloch Hold, the worst moralist and fiercest task master- and I know you’re rolling your eyes as you read this, Miss Evelyn Trevelyan! To think you can hold your tongue at any abuse flung at you, but the moment a warrior stomps in with their muddy boots into your clinic you become a little dragon still astonishes me! Make sure you leave this clinic as clean as you found it, indeed! But I digress. When Isabela’s remarks proved less helpful than I hoped, I moved to Merrill.

Merrill is the First of Clan Sabrae and plays role of Fenris’s interpreter when needed. She’s a bright girl, a bit scatterbrained at times. I think her mind is occupied with other projects even as she wanders around the keep. But anyhow, I asked her about Cullen. For a few moments she seemed confused, and kept mixing him up with other Templars serving in the Gallows. She apologized and explained that they were all so alike, wearing their helmets and armor and speaking like spirits in those dull, dead tones. But once she realized who it was I wanted information on, she was a fountain of observations. She even decided to write her own little notes for you, which I have pasted below for your reading pleasure. It certainly puzzled me.

_Hello Evelyn Trevelyan!_

_Anders has asked me about Knight Captain Cullen and his time in Kirkwall. It took a little while to remember everything I have ever thought of the man, but I managed to do so before Anders wrote a letter to you! I am glad I could send you a small note, if only to thank you for writing such a lovely letter to Fenris about Anders! He truly appreciated your thoughts and well-wishes, and conveys his own towards you and your future marriage!_

_Knight Captain Cullen struck me as a rather serious man. I think his face was permanently stuck in between a frown and a glower, but maybe that has changed since he left Kirkwall. He was always polite, but treated us mages with a lot of suspicion. I think he thought I would break out in demons, and I always wanted to tell him that demons are tricky but not impossible to deal with. Mages have dealt with them for ages, we can manage them well enough. But I’m rambling. Fenris says I do that too much._

_I think what is important for you to know about Knight Captain Cullen is that he always struck me as sad. He did not seem happy in Kirkwall, and he did not seem to make many friends. I think he was quite lonely, though he probably wouldn’t want to admit it._

_I hope you make good friends in Haven, and do remember that you have made friends in Kirkwall too!_

_-Merrill_

Now Fenris, Fenris’s interpretation of Cullen’s character was what I found most interesting. It was only a sentence, but it may be helpful. “A stone makes more conversation than him.” He did say that Cullen seemed changed after the events in the Gallows, but otherwise- I’m sorry, Evelyn. It just doesn’t look good. Fenris says to have faith in you, to believe that things will turn out well, but it is hard to have faith in anything, especially Templars.

I wanted to be honest with you, and give you as much information as I could find so that you would be prepared. I hoped that it would be helpful. But instead it just seems like I’ve only given you more cause to worry. I am sorry, Evelyn. I wish you the best, and know that I am always a letter away. And if your future husband gives you any trouble, I will have a place for you in Kirkwall. I know Surana has a place in Amaranthine’s clinic, and no one will tell the Queen of Ferelden no. You’ll be safe. We mages have to look out for each other, and we’ll look after you. I may not have faith in Templars, but I have faith in us. I believe you will make the best of this situation, and I believe that you will be wise enough and wary enough to leave when it is time to leave. Stay safe, Evelyn. Be careful. And good luck.

Your Friend and Not So Wise Tutor,

Anders

Anders set the quill down and pressed blotting paper to the parchment to absorb the excess ink. There, he thought with some satisfaction. He had done something. It might be minor and ineffectual, but Anders tried. He would send this out tomorrow, along with letters to Surana and Fiona. Long letters, Anders thought with some guilt. If he was going to write so much to Evelyn to tell her how dangerous her situation was, then he could at least spare a few sheets of parchment towards informing Surana about the Blight and red lyrium, and telling Fiona about the negotiations between the Dalish tribes and the Free Mages. Anders pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, and then a bronze coin.

“Heads, I write to Surana first. Tails, and I write to Fiona.” Anders told himself as he set the coin down on his folded thumb. Just when he was about to flick it up and let fate take its course, someone knocked on his door. Anders stood up and opened his door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Anders, but Fenris insisted.” Merrill apologized as Fenris walked into the room, looked around, and then sat down at the foot of Anders’s bed.

“Markings.” Fenris said simply. “You said.”

“Yes, I did.” Anders agreed. “You want me to look now?” Fenris gave Anders a look, a look that said ‘of course I am you dolt’ without any words. Anders sighed and gestures towards Merrill.

“Please, come in.” Anders said politely. “I was just writing to a friend.” Merrill entered the room and shut the door behind her before taking a seat on his desk chair. Anders cinched the belt of his robe tighter and looked over at Fenris. Fenris looked right back at him, his expression stony. He began to speak in Elvhen, and Merrill quickly translated.

“Fenris wants your assurance that if he asks you to stop your inspection of his markings, you will stop.” Merrill explained. “The moment he asks, no questions or demands.”

“Of course.” Anders agreed. After a moment, Fenris spoke again, his voice softer, his expression a little more suspicious than before.

“Fenris also wants your word that you will not use magic on him.”

“No magic.” Fenris added, his voice firm.

“You have my word. No magic.” Anders promised. “Nothing without your permission, Fenris.”

“Good.” Fenris replied, and he carefully took off his tunic and laid it out on the bed next to him.

In the well lit room, Anders could observe the full damage the markings had caused Fenris’s body. The marks were only half healed at best, the lyrium still damaging the skin. Whoever had embedded the lyrium into Fenris may have been ambitious and richer than Darkspawn living in an abandoned treasure trove, but they did not have much knowledge of the physical body or skill. The veins of lyrium may have followed the blood and nervous system, but the raw lyrium was wrecking havoc on Fenris’s nerves. His skin was slightly red and inflamed around the marks, and Anders gently directed Fenris to hold up his arm to the sunlight pouring in through the window. Yes, the skin was clear for now, but Anders saw the past evidence of infections surrounding the marks. There were scars from sicknesses before, and the marks obviously caused Fenris discomfort. Anders directed Fenris to lower his arm again, and he pushed an ottoman from in front of the fireplace to the bedside. Anders grabbed his journal and a small stick of graphite, and then he sat down on the overstuffed ottoman.

“How long have you had these marks, Fenris?” Anders asked, and patiently waited for Merrill to translate the question for Fenris and for Fenris to form a response. He shrugged and spoke in Elvhen, then in Common.

“Many winters.” Fenris said. “Ten at least.”

“Fenris doesn’t remember a time before the markings. He may have had them longer, but he doesn’t know for certain.” Merrill added. “But I think ten is a good estimate. He came to our clan three years ago.”

Anders took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Fenris needed him. He did not need Anders to panic. He needed a healer, not a frantic betrothed. You can manage this, Anders told himself. Buck up and help Fenris heal. Anders knew how to heal.

“How often have these marks gotten infected?” Anders asked. “And what are the symptoms of infection?” Once Merrill translated, Fenris began to speak. The more he spoke, the more relaxed he became. Anders wondered if anyone had ever simply asked Fenris if his lyrium markings hurt, if they listened to him speak without poking or prodding at them.

“It has happened several times. Fenris says that it starts with soreness around the marks, and that his skin gets red. Then there’s the fever.” Merrill said. “When it is really bad, the infected skin gets blistered and filled with pus.”

“I see.” Anders murmured. That explained the scarring. What Fenris needed was something to stop the inflection and reduce inflammation. Fenris would not have a fever if he wasn’t infected in the first place.

“How did you treat the marks?” Anders asked.

“A paste of elfroot reduced inflammation, and Fenris sweated out the fever most of the time.” Merrill said. “And we gave him a mix of elfroot and berry tea to help regain strength.”

“Elfroot is good for that. I will start mixing a new ointment we can also use to treat the markings.” Anders said. “I can collect the proper herbs in the kitchen gardens and the Sundermount foothills.” His mind was already spinning, thinking of herbal combinations that would help Fenris and soothe his markings. Chamomile, feverfew, and lavender from the gardens, elfroot (and perhaps royal elfroot) from the foothills. Combine and let sit, perhaps imbue the process with magic to heighten the effects- it would stink of flowers and the sharp scent of elfroot, but it would be effective. Fenris’s marks would heal.

“I will have something prepared by the end of the week.” Anders said. “Fenris, you can put on your tunic again if you’re uncomfortable.” Fenris quickly slipped his tunic over his head and smoothed it down. Anders smiled. Fenris turned his head to Merrill and said something softly to her.

“I’ll let you two have a moment alone!” Merrill said quickly before scurrying out of the room. Fenris stood up and slowly approached Anders. Anders set his journal on the desk and told himself to not back away.

“Thank you.” Fenris said simply. “For helping.”

“I haven’t done anything yet, Fenris. You don’t have to thank me, especially when I’m just doing my job. It’s what healers do. Help people.” Anders explained. “It’s what I’ve always done.” As he blabbered on, Fenris drew closer, placed a hand against Anders’s chest, his fingers slipping off the plush wool of the bathrobe and resting against his skin. He pushed up on his toes until he was eye to eye with Anders, and Fenris smiled before leaning in and pressing a dry, brief kiss to the corner of Anders’s mouth. Then he pulled away and stepped back as Anders stood, flabbergasted, in his bathrobe.

“I will see you at dinner.” Fenris said gently. “Go rest, Anders.” 

“You too, Fenris.” Anders replied, more than a little dazed. When Fenris left the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click, Anders sat down heavily at his desk. With trembling fingers he touched the spot where Fenris kissed him. It felt like a tingle on his skin, on his mouth, and Anders pressed just a little harder with the pads of his fingers. Fenris kissed him. A nice, simple kiss, mostly on his cheek, but still! It was a kiss!

“So much for turning the tables.” Anders murmured as he stared out to the garden. Fenris always managed to surprise him. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delayed chapter! Writing this chapter was a bit of a pain, but I can't wait to write the next one! I'm going to try and aim for Friday updates, so we'll see how that goes!


	6. Marriage

Anders’s fingers trembled as he fumbled with the clasps of his formal robe. After much debate and what felt like endless agonizing, Anders had decided on what to wear for his wedding. He wore mage robes, though they were cut more like a Warden surcoat than a Circle mage’s robes. The sleeves were long, the neckline was high around the neck and cut into a low V shape at the front, and the surcoat draped long in the back and shorter in the front. The fabric was teal silk shot with gold thread. Golden embroidery stitched in the pattern of feathers adorned the hem of the surcoat and was layered around his neck and shoulders. He wore his boots, carefully shined up with polish until he could see his reflection, and he wore his finest pair of trousers. Anders had washed up with soap that smelled of pine and brushed his hair until it gleamed. His fingers drifted to his earlobe, and he carefully pushed his worn down gold earring into the hole in the earlobe. Something old, Anders thought as the old Ferelden rhyme came to mind. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. And a silver coin in the sole of his shoe. He had to bring something of his old life with him for good luck.

The coin was already in the sole of his right boot, and his robes were new. If he was given a bridal bouquet perhaps that could be considered his borrowed item. Anders smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles in his tunic. The silk was cool under his palms. His hair hung loose around his face, and Anders reached into one of his wooden chests for something to tie his hair back. He looked to his spare Warden tunic, slightly stained by Darkspawn gore. The dark blue hem was slightly frayed. In a bit of inspiration, Anders tore a bit of the hem off with his hands and folded it over to make a thin strip of blue cloth. Then he tied his hair back from his face.

“Perfect.” Anders murmured. He would wear Warden blue with pride. All that was left was to find something borrowed, and Anders did not know what to borrow and who to borrow it from. He had friends here now, but it was not as if he could borrow something precious from them. Would he borrow Aveline’s shield, or Isabela’s necklaces? Perhaps he could as Varric for some chest hair, Anders thought with a chuckle. Hawke might pull out some old dusty ceremonial thing or a pair of old small clothes, and that wouldn’t suit the occasion at all!

Anders had grown more acquainted with the other Dalish elves besides Merrill and Fenris. Mahariel’s grim sense of justice and duty was admirable, and he was earnest and eager to learn everything he could from Anders and his way of doing magic. Anders even liked Lavellan and his easy going nature. He was familiar with the hunting grounds around Kirkwall due to his extended stay, and promised to guide Anders to patches of different herbs and plants he might need for potions. But he certainly wouldn’t ask the two for things to borrow so he could carry them at his wedding! If he asked one, he’d have to ask the other, and then the two would fight trying to upstage each other! Then other clan members would insist on giving a borrowed item, and Anders would have to drag a cart behind him during the ceremony, just to avoid hurt feelings. The delicate dance had been performed several times this past fortnight alone while Anders tried to negotiate his marriage contract to Fenris with the other members of the Dalish clans.

The negotiations were not difficult. They were agonizing! Fiona had organized much of the treaty by herself, communicating with the Dalish leadership for nearly a year to get the particulars of their trade agreements nailed down on paper. But Anders promised to tutor Dalish mages in the healing arts and in Circle techniques, so much of the negotiations centered around his ideas for a mage school within Kirkwall and how to balance teaching Circle techniques while maintaining a strong clan identity. Mahariel was eager to assist Anders in all these particulars, though Anders suspected that Mahariel wanted a good look at Anders’s potion equipment.

The person who surprised Anders the most during the many days of negotiations was Fenris. While he was a fierce advocate for his people and their needs, Fenris’s personal desires were quite simple. He did not ask for anything beyond mutual respect and assured independence. Anders was surprised at how similar his desires were to Fenris’s. They both wanted partners to support them. They did not wish to be controlled. They desired independence and the right to be themselves. They wanted their freedoms protected. In a way, Fenris was a kindred spirit. Anders understood and accepted that Fenris wanted freedom, and he desired the same things for himself.

“Marriage to Fenris would not be an awful thing.” Anders murmured, mostly to himself. Marriage to Fenris promised to be interesting and- Anders thought of the way Fenris would look at him, solemn and gentle and curious all at once, and he blushed. Marriage to Fenris promised to be both frustrating and exciting, and while Anders didn’t want to think he was only interested in Fenris for his beautiful looks Anders couldn’t deny that he found Fenris attractive. Fenris was brilliant and clever and enterprising and strong, and he was beautiful. Anders couldn’t help but find him attractive. At least he found Fenris attractive for more than his looks, Anders thought. He was not entirely shallow!

A knock on the door interrupted Anders’s musings. Anders stood and crossed the room to answer it. Nathaniel stepped inside, dressed in full Warden regalia and looking as solemn as ever. He looked over Anders as if he was inspecting his appearance. He seemed to approve, if his small nod was anything to go by.

“You’re taking this seriously.” Nathaniel observed. “A change for you.”

“It isn’t so great a change.” Anders protested. “I have taken my future seriously, you know!” He had seriously considered everything a marriage with Fenris entailed, and Anders was not just willing to marry him. He was eager to marry Fenris. It was a bit of a surprise.

“I realized this morning that you may require some items.” Nathaniel said, his eyes fixated away from Anders. Anders controlled his smirk. Nathaniel Howe battling his emotions was a fight Anders had seen many times.

“Yes. I had thought the same. Old nursery rhymes and all that. Never thought they would apply to me.” Anders said. He had never imagined he would get married. As a child marriage was never on his mind, and in the Circle love was a forbidden thing, never to be mentioned. And once he left the Circle and joined the Wardens, there was no time to consider marriage. Standing here now, Anders realized just how strange it was that he was getting married. If he had made different choices, if circumstances had changed, would he be standing in a foreign land dressed in fine silks, waiting to marry a man who was still a mystery to him? Anders couldn’t say.

“Here.” Nathaniel held out his hand. An elaborate dagger in a finely tooled leather sheath rested on his palm. The blade was as long as Nathaniel’s hand, and the handle was wrapped with silver wire. The pommel was a small orb of silver, and the guard was a twisted bit of metal that curved towards the blade, perfect for catching other blades and locking the blade in between guard and knife blade with a twist of the wrist. Nathaniel was particularly fond of the move, Anders thought as he took the knife in his hands.

“Is this your boot knife?” Anders asked. Yes, it was polished until it was blindingly bright, the sheath had been oiled so it was the rich, dark brown of overturned earth, but Anders had seen it many times in action. An heirloom of House Howe, though Nathaniel would never give it much ceremony. It was just his hunting knife, as it was his father’s, grandfather’s, and great-grandfather’s. Nothing special. But Anders knew how special it was. What came from family, good or bad, always mattered. It left trails in your heart. It stayed.

“I’ll need it back before I leave for Amaranthine.” Nathaniel muttered, pink staining his cheeks and ears. “But I thought you should have something suitable to borrow for today.”

“Nathaniel, that’s incredibly sweet of you.” Anders murmured, and he tucked the dagger into the outside of his left boot. It was a tight fit, but the leather of his boots was malleable. He had his own boot knife that he wore on patrols and in the clinic. It never hurt to have a knife on your person, just in case.

“You did put a coin in your shoe, didn’t you?” Nathaniel asked.

“Never took you for the superstitious type, Nathaniel.” Anders joked.

“If you didn’t I will give you one.” Nathaniel insisted.

“I already have it and it’s more irritating than nugs underfoot in the Deep Roads.” Anders replied, but he couldn’t help but smile. Nathaniel Howe was the fussiest old biddy, an old woman given the form of a handsome young man. Anders loved the man dearly, and he felt his eyes well up with tears.

“I’ll miss you when you leave for Amaranthine.” Anders whispered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m needed in Ferelden.” Nathaniel said. “And you knew this would only be temporary.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll still miss you. And Surana. And Sigrun. And Justice and Velanna and even Oghren. I’ll miss you all.” Anders replied. The Wardens of Amaranthine were a ragtag group of survivors, and Anders loved them like family. More than family, because family didn’t send each other off to the Templars and the Circle. Family stuck together, and the Wardens were the family Anders chose. Maker, he’d miss them. Filled with the terrifying thought that he’d never see his family again, Anders flung his arms around Nathaniel and hugged him tightly.

“I see you left Barkspawn off the list.” Nathaniel said dryly. “He will be crushed.”

“I’ll miss that slobbering hound as well.” Anders admitted. “He was sweet, always nudging my knee to beg for scraps of bacon.”

“Now I know you’re feeling sentimental.” Nathaniel said with a little smirk. “You always complained about Surana’s dog.” He still patted Anders on the back and tolerated his affectionate embrace, because Nathaniel Howe could, at times, be a decent man and allow cuddles. Anders appreciated it.

“I’ll still miss the monster. Maker knows I’ll miss him.” Anders replied as he slowly stepped away from the hug. “Sorry, got a bit weepy there.”

“It’s only natural. You are about to get married.” Nathaniel stated. “Wash your face with cold water, your eyes are puffy.”

“I’m an ugly crier, you know that.” Anders insisted.

“Everyone looks ugly when they cry, you are hardly special.” Nathaniel retorted, and he patiently waited for Anders to get ready.

“I’m going to escort you down the aisle. Show support for your union and all that.” Nathaniel informed Anders.

“Did Surana put you up to it?” Anders joked as they left his bedchamber.

“No. I thought of it myself.” Nathaniel said. “We may argue, but I consider you my friend, Anders.”

Nathaniel walked Anders down the hall into a small chamber off the main hall of the Keep, which was prepared for the ceremony. The Chantry was still in ruins after Knight Commander Meredith burnt the place down months ago, and the Dalish tribes would have never consented to having a wedding ceremony in a shemlen place of worship. The Keep’s main hall seemed to be the compromise, the first of many compromises. Anders did not care if there was an Andrastian ceremony or not, but Fiona insisted that there be a Chantry recognized ceremony. The marriage must be officially recognized by the Chantry, Fiona said, and so someone (probably Varric Tethras, with all his connections and some bribery) scrounged up a Chantry Mother who would lead an Andrastian ceremony. Merrill was going to marry them in a Dalish ceremony following Clan Sabrae’s traditions. There was quite a bit of fighting over which ceremony would come first, and, in a surprising show of deference and respect, it was the Chantry Mother who suggested that the ceremonies be merged together, Andrastian prayers and Elvhen prayers said one after the other, blessings and handfastings performed together.

“It is a marriage. On such occasions all grudges and bitterness should be cast aside.” The Chantry Mother insisted, her Antivan accent thick and heavy. “We are joining two people together, we must not drive each other apart with bickering.”

The Chantry Mother was in the small room with them now, and she gave Anders a friendly smile. She was ancient, Anders thought, all wizened like a dried fruit. Her hair was as white and fluffy as a cloud, and her body was so fragile it looked like her heavily starched Chantry vestments were the only things holding her up. She hobbled over to Anders and patted his cheek with a papery hand.

“You look so handsome, young man! Just like my great-nephew on his wedding day. Anderfels men always carry themselves well.” She said with a chuckle. “And I only saw your intended for a moment, but he was as stunning as you. What a statement you two will make!”

“If I were a young woman again-” Her laugh filled the room and she winked at Anders. “None of the pretty men here would be safe.” Anders couldn’t help but chuckle at the old woman’s gentle flirting, and when he laughed she grinned and patted his hand again.

“Ah, that’s much better! Nervousness in a groom is good, but fear and sadness has no place in a wedding.” The Chantry Mother said. “Now, I am here to ensure that you are marrying your man with your full, enthusiastic consent. You have not been pressured into this marriage? Bullied into it?”

“I do want to get married. It’s important to our people. And Fenris is- he’s a good man. I like him.” Anders said softly. “I am willingly going to the altar.”

“Ah, arranged marriage problems.” The Chantry Mother said sympathetically. “But as you aren’t desperately trying to climb out the window or have a chain wrapped around your ankles and wrists, I can safely assume you are here of your own free will.” When Anders and Nathaniel gave the old woman a shocked look, she waved her hand dismissively.

“Old stories that are far too long for the telling, but I will say that you are hardly the first arranged marriage I have witnessed, and you have a stronger base for a happy union than most.” The old woman stated firmly. “And perhaps the old crones in Orlais disagree, but they would marry two humans who hate each other to secure familial alliances and turn their noses up to a love match if the people didn’t suit their notions of suitability. They can go sit on carrots.” Anders tried not to laugh at the old woman’s statement.

“Should a Chantry Mother speak so… blasphemously?” Nathaniel asked cautiously, but the Chantry Mother only laughed.

“Haven’t used the Maker’s name in vain, dear boy, but if I say ‘The whole lot of them are ninnies, Andraste bless them,’ will you feel better?” She asked with a smile, her small dark eyes as bright as a bird’s.

“No, I don’t think it will.” Nathaniel admitted, and Anders laughed. The old woman grinned and patted his hand one last time.

“There, that’s a lovely laugh. Any more nerves or last minute regrets?” She asked, and when Anders shook his head she shuffled off to the door.

“I will be at the end of the hall, ready to wed you to your man.” She said, and then she was gone. Anders waited in silence with Nathaniel, waited until he could hear people chatting and filing into the hall. Witnesses, Anders thought, nobility and the Dalish clan representatives and all of Varric’s circle of companions, all here to witness his wedding to their friend and war chief, Fenris. When the crowd’s murmur died and the sound of a choir started, Anders knew it was time to go. Nathaniel walked beside him as he exited the door.

The hall was draped in red velvet banners bearing the Kirkwall crest, and the polished stone floor had a great red carpet stretching down the center of the hall. The hall was lined with wooden benches, and there were hundreds of tapers, the flames making the room as bright as day. And then there were the flowers, dozens of wildflowers in vases adorning the makeshift altar at the end of the hall. There was a canopy of sorts erected over the altar, decorated with flowers and white muslin. There was not one choir, Anders realized, but two: one of children dressed in Chantry robes, and another group dressed in Dalish finery. The Chantry children were singing now, but as soon as their song was finished the Dalish children began singing.

“Are you ready?” Nathaniel asked, nudging Anders with his elbow and bringing his attention back to the real world. Anders nudged him back and smiled.

“More than ready.” He replied.

Anders barely remembered walking down the aisle. It seemed to have happened to another man in another place. He barely heard the murmurs, the whispers, the two rival choirs competing for attention as he walked and took his place at the altar under the canopy. The old Chantry Mother winked at him and murmured a blessing, while Nathaniel stepped back and stood as the best man. Anders looked out over the sea of people. He did not recognize most of them, humans in fine clothing who were looking at him with unabashed curiosity. Kirkwall’s nobility, Anders guessed. 

There were others in the crowd who were more familiar. Varric Tethras, of course, with his finest coat and chest hair gleaming, sat at the front. Next to him was Marian Hawke, who wore crimson and iron and looked terribly imposing. When she saw Anders was looking she waved enthusiastically and tugged on the sleeve of the older woman sitting next to her, a graceful old lady wearing blue. When she turned to look at Anders, he saw icy blue eyes and a warm, patient smile. Hawke’s mother, he thought. Marian has her eyes.

Behind Hawke and her mother sat Aveline, dressed in her dress uniform. A man with an impressive set of muttonchops sat next to her. Isabela sat on the other side of Aveline, dressed in a magnificent blue dress dyed the colors of the sea, and she was covered in golden jewelry. Every time Isabela’s hands began to wander towards Hawke Aveline slapped her hand down. Anders read her lips as she whispered to Isabela to “behave for five minutes, you two can sneak off and canoodle after the ceremony!” Anders smirked. He knew there was something between Isabela and Hawke! He knew it!

Then, of course, there were the Dalish clan members. He had met many of them during his meetings with Fenris and the clans, but there were some who were strangers to him. The entire children’s choir, for example, or the older elves who were present in the crowd. But Anders still picked out the faces of those who were familiar to him. There was Mahariel, dressed in black and red, his long dark hair elaborately braided and pinned out of his face. When he met Anders’s gaze his normally stern expression softened slightly into what seemed like a friendly expression. Then, of course, there was Lavellan sitting further away, dressed in green and brown. He grinned at Anders and waved until a stern looking woman at his side pressed his hand down. Her hair was brown, her eyes grey, and she had the look of a long-suffering older sibling etched into her face. She was also a mage, Anders realized. She had a staff laying across her lap. Clan Lavellan’s First? He had not met her, as she was usually off somewhere collecting Dalish knowledge to store in a grimoire or something. At least, that was what Merrill always said.

The choirs switched songs again, and as the Dalish children’s choir began to sing, another door opened and several people walked out. There was Merrill, dressed in robes made of cloth of silver, and an older woman with her white hair piled high on her head. And then, emerging from the room last, was Fenris. Anders nearly gasped, but what came out was a sort of strangled squeak. Fenris was stunning. He wore a green tunic trimmed with silver cloth. His hair was loose and brushed back from his face, and his expression was serene. Calm. How could he be so calm? Anders felt like he was going to explode from all the tension and anxiety warring within him. Fenris walked towards him, and while his expression was calm, Anders saw his eyes and the excitement that danced in them.

Fenris finally reached his side, and the older woman lay her hands on his shoulders and whispered something to him before standing off to the side. She must be Fenris’s personal witness, much like Nathaniel was acting as Anders’s. Merrill walked up to the altar to take her place next to the Chantry Mother, but she grinned at Anders as she passed him.

“You look very nice today, Anders.” She said, and then the ceremony began.

The Chantry Mother led a prayer blessing the couple, reminding them to support each other through all their days. Anders appreciated that she did not demand they love each other. She knew what this was and did not try to dress it up with platitudes. But at the same time she urged Anders and Fenris to work together, to be the support the other needed in dark and dangerous times, to be the light that led them to do good in the world. Once she was done with her prayer, Merrill led her own prayer urging much the same, invoking Elvhen gods and goddesses to protect the wedded couple and give them happy days. With everyone fixated on the prayers, Anders shyly glanced over to Fenris, peering at him from under his lashes.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured, and he saw Fenris’s mouth quirk up into a smile.

“Hush, Bird Mage.” He admonished gently, but he reached out and took Anders’s hand. They stood together as more prayers and blessings and readings were said, and finally there was the Andrastian exchange of rings and vows. Anders handed Fenris a thin ring of gold he had bought while wandering Kirkwall’s Hightown markets. There were little vines engraved in the gold, vines that made Anders think of the garden where they first saw each other. Anders slipped the gold onto Fenris’s dark, slender finger.

“I swear to honor and respect you and all that you are, Fenris. I will support you in your endeavors, I will be by your side in sickness and health, and I will always heed your advice.” Anders promised. Fenris nodded and carefully slipped a ring onto Anders’s finger, a silver band engraved with feathers.

“I will honor and respect you, Anders. I will not change your nature or control you. I will stay by your side, and we will weather all our storms together. This I do swear.” Fenris spoke slowly and carefully in Common, his voice barely accented. He must have worked hard to do this for him, Anders realized, and he squeezed Fenris’s hand tightly.

Merrill took out brightly colored ribbons from one of her pockets and slowly wound them around Anders’s and Fenris’s joined hands. It was symbolic more than anything, Anders recalled from Merrill’s informative lectures. The two had already written out and signed their agreements and stood together under the canopy during the prayers. They were already married. Married in two cultures, Anders realized as the prayers suddenly ended and Fenris was looking up at him, eyes and expression soft and warm and welcoming.

“Hello, husband.” Fenris murmured gently, and he leaned up to press a kiss to Anders’s mouth. There was no finesse or skill, simply a soft press of mouths. It was even a little clumsy, because Fenris was pressing a little too hard and clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

Anders thought it was endearing.

When Fenris pulled away Anders leaned down and kissed him again, ignoring the gathered throng and eager to teach Fenris how to properly kiss his husband (Husband!). Fenris tolerated it for a moment, but pulled away and kissed Anders on the tip of his nose.

“Later.” Fenris insisted. “Not now.”

“Fine.” Anders agreed. “But I’m giving you lessons.” Fenris made a face, but he let Anders lead him down the aisle and into the dining hall.

There were dozens upon dozens of people present for the dinner, but Anders was barely aware of them as he drank wine, ate food, and nibbled on a piece of cake with nuts and bits of dried fruit in it. He was a bit distracted by the way the candlelight played on Fenris’s pale hair and how bright his eyes were. Husband. Fenris was his husband now. Maker help him, Anders hardly knew the first thing about being a husband!

“Anders.” Fenris’s voice cut through Anders’s frantic musings. Anders looked up at Fenris, who looked a little concerned and fond. He squeezed Anders’s hand and leaned towards him to whisper in his ear.

“Follow me.” Fenris ordered before standing up and casually walking out of the banquet being held in their honor. The wine and beer was flowing, so no one seemed to notice that the guests of honor had left the hall. Fenris walked through the halls with purpose, and Anders scrambled to catch up with him. He may have long legs, but Fenris moved quickly! Anders finally caught up with him when Fenris stopped at a wooden door in the east wing of the keep.

“Present for you. Come inside.” Fenris said, and he opened the door and ushered Anders into the room. It was Fenris’s bedroom. Anders recognized the armor on the stand near the door, and the sword carefully put up on the weapon’s rack. But he put his observations on hold when his ears detected the tiniest sound. A familiar sound. The mewl of a kitten. Anders watched, eyes wide, as Fenris picked up a woven basket and held it out to Anders. Anders peered inside.

It was a kitten, with big blue eyes and orange striped fur and a soft, fuzzy white belly. It looked up at Anders with those big blue eyes, opened its mouth, and meowed. Then it meowed again, louder and more drawn out, and Anders picked him up out of the basket and the soft silk cushion he was resting on.

“Why hello.” Anders murmured. The kitten bopped his nose with one of its little white paws, and Anders chuckled. What a fearsome little- Anders checked. Lad. A little boy kitten, orange and white. Just like a tiger, and Anders thought of his childish illustrations of Templars being eaten by enormous cats. He cuddled the cat close to his chest and tried not to cry.

“You got me a cat.” Anders managed to say. Fenris nodded, and held up his arms, his tunic sleeve folded up. Little scratch marks covered his dark skin.

“Ferocious. A good companion, but small.” Fenris stated. He rolled his sleeve down again.

“You got me a guard cat.” Anders whispered.

“Mouser. For your clinic.” Fenris replied, then shrugged, as if to say it was nothing. “Your friends, they said you would want a cat. I found you one.”

Anders pressed a kiss on top of the kitten’s fuzzy little head. Fenris knew of Anders’s love of cats, and on the advice of Anders’s friends went out and found this perfect little creature for him. Fenris is a good man, Anders thought, going to all this trouble to find a kitten. Anders may not know how to be a good husband, but Fenris certainly did. Fenris may not know how to kiss, but Anders could teach them. They could learn a lot from each other. Anders was willing to try.

Anders stepped further into the bedroom and sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. He let the kitten rest on his lap. He started clambering up his fine robes to nestle in the crook of his neck. Anders let him rest, and then looked up to Fenris and held out his hand.

“Won’t you sit with me?” Anders asked his husband. “The kitten needs a name.”

And so that was how Anders spent his wedding night. He sat on the floor of his husband’s bedroom, cuddling with his husband and playing with a kitten. It was a fine night.

-

3rd Day of Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon Age

Dearest Karl,

I am now a married man. It doesn’t feel any different than my non-married state, though I will say that the words “Married,” “Husband,” and “Marriage Bed” sound odd in my mouth. My mind knows I’m married, but my heart still wonders. Nothing seems different. I'm still me.

I got married yesterday. My wedding night was pleasant and enjoyable. We sat in front of the fireplace and played with a kitten. My kitten. My husband (and that feels strange to write, let me tell you) found a little orange and white kitten for me. He has beautiful blue eyes and mews in such a cute way (the kitten, not the husband)! We spent the night debating over a perfect name for him. Fenris insisted on Felix. It is traditional, he claims. I still believe that Ser Kitten Mittens is a suitable name (don’t you dare laugh at me, Karl), but Fenris disagrees. So we are at an impasse.

Fenris did nothing untoward. He treated me with utmost respect and gave me a chaste kiss goodnight before we went to our separate beds. I would say he behaved like a perfect gentleman and simply didn’t wish to overwhelm me but- well, I suppose I can confide in you, Karl. I don’t know if Fenris has much experience with physical intimacy. I can’t imagine his lyrium tattoos make the prospect of touching others and being touched in return palatable. If the skin was infected it would be quite painful, and even then his body would be sensitive to touch. But when he kissed me it was as if he had never been kissed before. Fenris was all enthusiasm and no finesse. I would enjoy teaching him, I think. We might not have a romantic marriage or a great love story, but I think we could someday be physically intimate. Fenris is extremely attractive, and I believe he is rather taken with my looks. He calls me bird mage. Bird mage! I find the nickname sweet, and it does make my heart flutter in my chest. We didn’t give each other nicknames in the Circle. It would just be another weapon for the Templars to use, a way to identify friends and lovers. Too dangerous.

I have to write letters to Fiona and Surana now, and cuddle with my kitten. I must also think of a good name for the little lad- he’s sleeping on my freshly laundered tunic after he murdered the sash of my silk bathrobe. Quite the little hunter, this one! I adore him. He may need siblings in the future.

All My Love,

Anders

Anders set his quill down and stretched out his hands. Writing in his journal always managed to clear his head, and he would need a clear, focused mind for when he wrote to Fiona and Surana. Fiona would want reports on the negotiations, his wedding, and the relationships he was developing among the Dalish clan members in Kirkwall. Surana, of course, would expect news on the red lyrium. She would also want to hear about the wedding, of course, but the red lyrium would be her primary concern. She was a Warden, after all. Though Fiona would understand as well, being a former Warden. She’d probably want to know about the red lyrium and possible danger it would present to Wardens, mages, Templars- everyone, really. 

Anders sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It was never easy to write a report. Anders glanced over to his bed, where the kitten was snoozing in a patch of sunlight. Anders wanted to bury his face in soft kitten fur and forget his troubles, at least for one day. Instead, he opted to sit down on the edge of the bed and give the kitten a few nice pats on the head. The kitten yawned and stretched his little body to its full length.

“You’re going to be a monster of a cat.” Anders murmured as he tickled under the kitten’s chin. The kitten mewed and flopped over to display his belly, and Anders laughed.

“Ah, no! I am not falling for that trick!” Anders exclaimed, and the kitten mewed again. It sounded almost imperious, like a royal who was displeased at their subject’s lack of obedience. Anders laughed again, filled with delight. Just like a cat, to think they ruled the world!

A light knock interrupted his playing with the kitten, and Anders lifted his head. He was fully dressed, though it was only a simple linen shirt and wool leggings. Decent enough, Anders thought. He was clean.

“Come in!” Anders called out, and after a moment Fenris entered the room and shut the door behind him. Fenris’s solemn expression brightened when he saw Anders playing with the kitten.

“You like him.” Fenris said softly.

“Yes. He’s very sweet.” Anders replied. “It was thoughtful of you to find a cat for my clinic, Fenris. Thank you for your gift.”

“Good.” Fenris said shortly. It fell quiet again, and he just seemed to stare at Anders, as if he was at a loss. As if he didn’t know what to say. Anders smiled and scooted over on the bed to provide an open space for another person to sit.

“There’s plenty of room if you want to stay.” Anders offered. After a moment, Fenris moved forward and sat down. Anders was about to talk, mostly to fill the silence, but Fenris cleared his throat.

“I- I do not wish to be intimate yet.” Fenris said in a rush.

“Pardon?” Anders asked, trying to understand what brought this about. Was it the way they kissed last night? The way Fenris flirted with him made Anders think for certain that he had experience in such matters, but the way Fenris kissed painted a different picture. And now, the way Fenris kept his gaze firmly on his lap, refusing to look at Anders- was Fenris shy?

“I do not wish to- kaffas!” Fenris said harshly, and Anders was certain it was a curse word. Shy and frustrated, Anders thought, and very confused.

“Fenris, I think I understood the first time. You don’t want to engage in sexual relations with me at this time.” Anders stated what seemed most obvious.

“No. Yes. I- it is… difficult.” Fenris said with a sigh. “I understand Common tongue, but the words-”

“Do you want to find Merrill?” Anders asked, half rising from the bed to fetch someone to go find Merrill and help Fenris communicate.

“No!” Fenris exclaimed, reaching for Anders’s arm and tugging him back down.

“No.” Fenris repeated, softer this time. “This… this is between us. Husbands.”

“I understand, Fenris.” Anders said. “What do you want from our relationship?”

“I do not know!” Fenris exclaimed, and his previously stiff posture deflated like a punctured lung. He looked sad and frightened and small, and Anders wanted nothing more than to gather him up and tell Fenris that all would be well. But his husband was a proud man, and Anders would not do anything to damage that pride. Instead, Anders cautiously reached out and took one of Fenris’s hands in his own.

“If I ask questions, questions you can say yes or no to, will that help?” Anders asked gently. Fenris nodded slowly.

“Yes.” Fenris murmured. “Yes, it will.”

“Do you still wish to be married to me?” Anders asked, keeping his voice gentle and calm.

“Yes.” Fenris answered immediately.

“Do you want to have sex right now?” Anders asked.

“No.” Fenris replied. He looked a little guilty, and the expression made something inside Anders twist painfully. Fenris should never look ashamed, not for this.

“Then we won’t.” Anders reassured Fenris. “We will do nothing that you don’t want, Fenris.” When Fenris sighed it sounded like relief, and Anders smiled at him.

“Do you like me?” Anders couldn’t help but ask the question. It leapt out of his mouth unbidden, and once it hung out in the open he could not take it back. How rude, Anders berated himself. Fenris is struggling and instead of being supportive he asked a selfish question! But Fenris did not look frightened or confused. Instead he seemed… pleased? Bashful? 

“Yes.” Fenris murmured, his cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you attracted to me?” Anders asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yes.” Fenris said, and he squeezed Anders’s hand.

“I find you attractive too, Fenris.” Anders confessed. “In case you were wondering.” Fenris’s pleased expression only grew until he looked almost proud. He held himself up, back straight, and he finally looked Anders in the eye.

“We should discuss our boundaries.” Anders decided. “Tell each other what we will and won’t accept.” There was little Anders hadn’t tried, but even he had his limits. Fenris would surely have his own. Fenris was quiet for a while, and Anders knew he would have to start this difficult conversation.

“For example, I don’t like being blindfolded and gagged at the same time. One or the other during sex, I can handle it. Both is too much. It frightens me.” Anders admitted softly. “So that is a boundary of mine I will not let others cross.” Fenris frowned, but nodded in understanding.

“No hitting. No whips.” Fenris decided, and Anders had to quickly rearrange his features into something resembling neutral acceptance before Fenris saw the shock and horror. This was not about him, Anders thought. This is for Fenris. He needs to feel safe. Andraste's Knickerweasels, what made Fenris think that Anders would take a whip to him- Tevinter, Anders realized. It always came back to Tevinter, and Fenris's mysterious past.

“Then there will be no hitting. Or whips.” Anders agreed. “I don’t like being mocked. Teasing and dirty talk is fine, but cruelty is not.”

“Agreed. No cruel words.” Fenris stated firmly. “No magic.”

“No magic?” Anders asked, and he looked down at Fenris’s markings and thought of how Fenris survived gaining them. Magic, probably. Blood magic. Painful magic. Anders sighed. Tevinter again.

“I will not use magic in bed with you, Fenris.” Anders said. “But I am a mage. Will it bother you to be intimate with a mage?” Fenris was silent for some time, and Anders’s heart dropped somewhere in his stomach as he waited for Fenris to say something.

“No.” Fenris admitted. “But I will be afraid.” He would not look Anders in the face again. Was it shame, or was it fear that made Fenris look away? Anders squeezed Fenris’s hand.

“I can’t change that I’m a mage. I’m proud that I am a mage. But I will never use my magic to harm or frighten you, Fenris.” Anders promised. “No magic in bed.”

Fenris nodded, and there was something like relief in his expression.

“Is there anything else, Fenris?” Anders asked. “I can’t think of anything.”

“I- I do not know.” Fenris said hesitantly. “I need time.”

“We can talk about this any time you want, Fenris.” Anders assured his husband. “If anything changes, if you want to try something- we can talk. Negotiate.”

“Yes.” Fenris breathed out, and he finally smiled. “Thank you, Anders.” Anders ran his thumb along Fenris’s knuckles, taking extra care to be gentle.

“Thank you for trusting me, Fenris.” Anders replied. He would do everything in his power to be worthy of Fenris’s trust. Fenris leaned towards Anders and pressed a dry, quick kiss to Anders’s cheek. Anders flushed- an entire conversation about sex and sexual preferences, and Fenris gave him an innocent kiss a young lad might give his first love! The sweetness of the gesture would completely undo whatever composure he had! 

Desperate to find something else to look at, Anders turned his gaze to the kitten. He was awake now, and curiously hunched up. His little orange tail twitched back and forth, back and forth, and then he wriggled and leaped, pouncing on a wrinkle in the coverlet on the bed. The kitten patted ferociously at the coverlet with its little white paws, and Anders laughed with delight. Fenris joined him, chuckling and watching the cat with a mixture of wonder and pleasure.

“A little hunter.” Fenris declared. “Good for your clinic.”

“You made a good choice, Fenris.” Anders agreed. “Did you see how he pounced?”

Pounce. That had a nice ring to it. Anders let the name roll around in his mind as the kitten rolled around on the bed and Fenris smiled at him. Pounce. Pounce, Ser Pounce-

“Ser Pounce-A-Lot.” Anders said, getting Fenris’s attention. When Fenris lifted an eyebrow at Anders, Anders smiled and picked up the kitten, bringing him up to Fenris so he could behold the cuteness of Ser Pounce-A-Lot. 

“Ser Pounce-A-Lot, or Pounce for short.” Anders explained. “What do you think?”

“Pounce.” Fenris said slowly. “A good name.”

“Yes. Pounce.” Anders scratched behind Pounce’s ears and grinned when the kitten mewed loudly. Fenris hesitantly reached out and slowly pet the kitten. They sat on the bed with their cat and shared in the warm comfort of mutual understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short marriage chapter so we can get into what married life will be like for Fenris and Anders! Thank you all for reading!


	7. Until We Meet Again

Anders received a thick packet of letters from an out of breath courier as he left a small meeting with a coalition of Dalish Firsts. The meeting was meant to iron out a lesson plan that incorporated Circle and Dalish techniques while also developing a good training regimen that would bolster a mage’s confidence and give them practical training. Unfortunately, the meeting devolved into a group of mages trading notes on staff technique and spellwork while sipping on tea and nibbling on snacks. It was pleasant, but not nearly as productive as everyone hoped. Still, Anders felt it went well enough. Everyone was on friendly terms now, which was a good start.

Anders planned to spar with Mahariel after the meeting, with Clan Lavellan’s first, Ellana, playing the part of judge. But now these letters… Anders flipped through them. One from Fiona, one from Surana, several congratulatory letters from various mages and Wardens in Amaranthine- and two from Evelyn. Important letters, Anders thought, and his curiosity was piqued. Evelyn would not have wanted to waste paper if she could help it. What, by Andraste’s blessed bosom, had inspired her to write two letters? Long ones, if the thickness of the folded up parchment was anything to go by.

“Important correspondence, Anders?” Ellana asked. Anders nodded and held up the pile of letters.

“A few letters, yes. Would you mind if I read through these? If there’s an emergency I should know straight away.” Anders said apologetically. Ellana nodded her head, her short brown hair blowing wildly in the breeze.

“Of course. We can always reschedule.” Ellana said magnanimously. Mahariel frowned, but eventually shrugged.

“We will practice another day, then.” Mahariel agreed. “It is easily done.” Anders smiled gratefully at the two and hurried to his rooms. He sat down in the chair next to the window, set the packet of letters down, and sorted through them. Fiona’s first, he decided, then Surana’s, and then Evelyn’s. He would write quick responses to each one as well before dinner. Then the courier would deliver them to a fresh courier in the morning. If the Chantry could be given credit for one thing, it was the mail system they had established in every township. Anders eagerly dove into his correspondence, starting with Fiona’s letter.

Dear Warden Anders, Former Head Healer of the Free Mages of Amaranthine,

It gives me the greatest of pleasure to hear of your wedding. It was quite clever of you and Chantry Mother Josefina to come up with a way to incorporate Andrastian and Dalish wedding ceremonies into one grand event. Not only does it make your marriage legitimate in the eyes of the Dalish clans and the Chantry, it proves that our cultures are not incompatible. When we are willing to open up and give as well as take, we can find common ground.

I trust that your plans to create a clinic in Kirkwall are progressing smoothly. While it may take time to train other healers and gather new students, I believe that, with a little hard work, you can have the clinic up and running in a few months. I hear that the difficult work has been in combining Dalish teachings and Circle techniques. I wish you luck, Anders. I never had the patience for such talks. Always a woman of action, I suppose. I will soon travel to Val Royeux to convene with the Divine and make our opinions and voices heard. Hopefully she hasn't blocked her ears with beeswax and will listen to sense.

Once again, I wish you the best in your marriage, Anders. May you experience good fortune.

My Best Wishes,

Fiona, First Enchanter of the Free Mages Of Amaranthine

Anders smiled and set the letter down. Fiona was as optimistic and demanding as ever. A little hard work? Working with the Dalish clans in one united purpose was like herding cats! But Fiona expected him to figure something out, and the Dalish Firsts were as eager to train their mages as Anders was. Perhaps Fiona was right to have faith in him. Anders certainly felt more optimistic with every passing day. Anders picked up another letter and opened it, and he grinned when he saw the loopy scrawl of the Warden Commander.

Dear Anders,

My wedding has been set back three months because the council has gone into a tizzy over my wedding dress. My wedding dress, Anders! Three months for a dress! I would think it was a delaying tactic, but Anora told me that she had a similar battle when she married King Cailan. I had just planned on wearing blue and silver. You know, Warden colors. But half the council believes that wearing blue would show my support of the Orlesians, as blue is their color. I didn’t realize that the Orlesians owned the color blue. I think we’ll have to go to war now to reclaim blue for all people of Thedas! 

So now the council must debate over the precise shade of blue that will not be mistaken for Orlesian Blue. After that debate is finished, we will argue over dress designs. Then we will have to figure out where we will take the materials (the gown must, of course, be a Ferelden gown). And then there is the hair and the flowers and the guests and the meals and all the proper ceremonies- it is enough to drive a woman to madness! I’m not marrying Alistair to be Queen of Ferelden, I’m marrying Alistair because he’s the love of my life and I’m going to share whatever time I have left with him. I’d marry him if he was just a peasant, but he’s a king now so I’ll just have to deal with all this bother. Alistair is worth it (most of the time).

It’s surprising that Anora’s taken Alistair ousting her out of her position as gracefully as she has. It may have something to do with the fact that Alistair and I, being Wardens, are unlikely to reproduce. Anora has been named heir. And if we do have a child, Anora will be made regent in the case of our likely deaths. Wardens don’t live long, all things considered, so it is quite possible that Alistair and I will die before a child of ours reaches their majority. It isn’t pleasant to think about, but Alistair and I had to have these conversations. And Anora might be imperious and harsh and puts her father on a pedestal, but she would protect our child. I believe that with all my heart.

But enough of my personal troubles and worries. We have to deal with Warden business. In particular, we need to talk about the red lyrium. Based on what you and Nathaniel have told me, I’m going to officially appoint you, Anders, as the Warden in charge of monitoring the situation. Since it’s in Kirkwall you’ll have to negotiate with Varric Tethras, but I highly encourage you (read this as an order, Anders, I mean it) to tell Tethras that NO ONE is to set foot on that island. We’re going to look through the Deep Roads and keep an eye out for red lyrium, but what I’m truly worried about is if someone decides to trade in the stuff. I hope that that artifact and the statue that was once Knight Commander Meredith Stannard is the only red lyrium left in the world, but I doubt it. I doubt it very much. We can’t let this red lyrium get out into the public. What would happen if mages and Templars started consuming the stuff? Would they go mad and turn into statues as well? I don’t want to find out.

Because it is such an emergency, I’ve sent a courier to Weisshaupt with your findings. They might be pissy because I’m not turning my back to world events like a Warden should, but the Blight is Warden business. They don’t want to deal with me? Fine. But they will deal with the red lyrium. It is our duty.

Be careful out there in Kirkwall, Anders. I know you can handle yourself (you always have, even in Kinloch), but I still worry. I hope your husband will keep you safe, and I hope he got you a cat. I was always looking for one to give you as a Satinalia present, but I never managed to find one that needed a home. Hopefully you’ll find a fuzzy whiskered mouse catching friend in Kirkwall. 

Hugs and More Hugs,

Neria Surana

P.S. Alistair loves the book you got him. He’s been beaming from ear to ear for the past week.

P.P.S Alistair here! A first edition copy of Hard In Hightown with a personal letter from Varric Tethras written on the front endpaper? Anders, you are fantastic. I’d make you a knight if I could, but apparently that’s complicated business and involves a lot of arguing if mages can be knights or not (Knight Enchanters exist so the answer is clearly yes, but some people don’t see it that way). Thank you for the wonderful gift, I’ll treasure it always!

Anders chuckled and set Neria’s letter on top of Fiona’s. He would have to reply to that, but it wasn’t urgent. Save for the bits about the red lyrium, it was positively gossipy. Anders felt a little twinge of guilt as he thought about Neria’s other request, that he ask around about her companion Morrigan.

“I’ll ask Fenris if he knows about such a woman. If she’s been wandering the wilds, perhaps she ran into a Dalish clan?” Anders murmured. Pounce, who had been napping on the windowsill, blinked his big blue eyes open and yawned. Anders smiled as the kitten stretched, stood up, and walked in a stiff legged fashion to the next patch of sunshine (on the bed). He stretched again, circled three times, and then curled up in a ball and fell asleep.

“Cats.” Anders sighed with some envy. He wished he could nap whenever he felt like it! Anders reached for Evelyn’s letters and checked the postmarked date. He picked the one with the earliest date, opened it up, and began to read.

Dear Anders,

Today I rode into Haven and met my future husband. I thank you for sending me your letter (it reached me just in time) so I could properly prepare myself for the greeting I was sure I would receive. But nothing could have prepared me for the icy cordiality that every person here has shown me. But I should start at the beginning of the day, and go through my voyage up into the village, meeting the leadership of the Conclave, and eventually settling into my room where I am now writing this letter.

I woke up with the dawn today, washed with the inn’s soap that smelled of juniper berries, and dressed as warmly as possible. The wind was cold and there is snow in the mountain’s foothills. I put on my thickest wool socks and fur lined boots, and dressed with leggings underneath the robes because it was so cold! None of my fine robes would have been warm enough for the journey up the mountain, so I wore my traveling robes. I tried to plait my hair as I normally do, but my fingers trembled so much that I couldn’t even manage a simple braid. I had to tie it back with a ribbon, and even that was almost beyond me! 

I was so nervous I could hardly eat, and when Bull decided it was time to head out I nearly ran to the stables to saddle my horse. I don’t believe I’ve written to you about my horse yet, Anders, and I really should. I grew up in a family that was horse mad, and being in the Circle meant I never got to spend much time with horses unless I snuck down to greet the visiting mounts. Having my own horse after so many years is a novel experience to be sure! The mare has a lovely tan colored coat with a silky black mane and tail. She is sturdy and strong with a lovely temperament. She is so obliging! I named her Buttercup. Perhaps it is not a fearsome or noble name, but I think it fits her well.

The ride up the mountain was uneventful. We rode the long trail, which switchbacks up the Frostbacks, and yet we did not meet a single soul. Lieutenant Aclassi volunteered to scout ahead with Dalish and Rocky, and Bull agreed. He thought the silence was a little odd, but not completely alarming. He guessed that we were being watched by scouts. While I hate to think that we were being watched, I am sure Bull was right. He is rarely wrong on these matters. Bull is an experienced spy.

I suppose you can tell that I am hesitant to write about the moment I first saw Haven and met the people organizing the Conclave. I am delaying writing about the moment by discussing outfits and weather and horses, but I can’t delay it any longer, can I, Anders? I will have to tell you the absolute truth and hope that no one reads my mail before sending it out. If it even gets sent out.

Oh, Anders, it was awful! I hardly know where to start, but riding into Haven was dreadful. We rode into the town, a little village with thatched roofs and rocky landscapes, with great timber walls surrounding the town. We rode past the gates and down the muddy roads, and there were so many people milling about outside. It was as if they were waiting for us, villagers and Chantry officials and ex-Templars all alike, and they were silent as we rode past. As I rode past. And when my back was turned I heard the whispers. There were so many angry whispers, Anders, so many judgemental stares! It was as if I was once again a teenage girl visiting Val Royeux and the White Spire, and all the elegant mages and nobility gawked at me like I was some animal on display. There was not one kind word, Anders. Not a one. And I saw at least one old woman spit on the ground as I passed. I pretended not to notice.

I liked to believe that I am strong enough to endure the scorn of the people. After all, it is better to be alive and scorned than dead and revered. But after today I am no longer so certain. The temperature in these mountains is cold, but my welcome was colder. I feel like I will become a block of ice here if I do not find some sort of warmth! I had hoped to find friendship among the leadership here in Haven. I had thought I would find like-minded souls intent on making peace out of chaos.

I thought wrong.

Where do I start? Did you know that both of the Divine’s Hands are here in Haven? They are as intimidating as the tales say. I am somewhat terrified of them, though in different ways. I know that my very survival here rests on their whims. I do not think I will last long if I do not stay in their good graces.

Leliana, the Left Hand, was solemn faced and looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my boots. I do not think she was impressed by my appearance. I do not think she was impressed by me at all. Oh, she was polite enough. She asked all the proper questions and inquired after my trip and my health, but I think she already knew the answers. Her pale blue eyes looked satisfied when I answered her questions honestly. I do not like to think of what she would have said if I had lied.

The Right Hand, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, was even less pleased to see me than her counterpart. She said a terse greeting and scowled at me. I’ve heard she killed a dragon and comes from a family of famed dragon slayers. Part of me thinks that she wishes I were a dragon so she could slay me.

There is a diplomat among their number, an Antivan noblewoman, Josephine Montilyet. She was polite, but there was a cool disapproval in her eyes even as she asked after my health. I suppose being a member of a rebellion is considered bad for diplomacy. I must make her job difficult indeed. I hate to say it, Anders, but I hated Lady Montilyet’s politeness more than Seeker Pentaghast’s obvious disgust. At least I know what Seeker Pentaghast thinks of me. I know what to expect. What am I supposed to do with someone concealing their true thoughts behind a paper fan and silk gloved hands?

This leaves Ser Cullen. Or Commander Cullen, as he’s being called. He’s the one leading the ex-Templars and they need to maintain their military structure and identity even after leaving the Order. I’m sorry, Anders. I am tired and ill-tempered. I should try and be more positive, even in my private letters. Being upset will not solve anything, and it certainly won’t foster any positive feelings on my part. But Anders, it’s- your letter did not prepare me for what I would be dealing with. Nothing could have, so you must not blame yourself, but it has been hours and yet I still feel lost at sea.

Commander Cullen is possibly the grimmest man I have ever met, and I know Nathaniel Howe! He never once cracked a smile or even showed anything like a sense of humor or life behind those dull brown eyes. He was perfectly polite, of course, inquiring after the particulars of the trip and asking after my health, but it was as if he had been drilled for hours before our meeting to recite those questions. There was no feeling or curiosity behind them. It was- it was pure responsibility. I did not entertain romantic notions of our future together, I assure you, Anders. But I had hoped for friendship, and it seems this will be denied to me as well. I saw the way he looked at me. I saw the way his eyes glanced at my gloved hands and covered wrists. I saw the flicker of fear that bloomed in his eyes before they went dull and his speech turned as mechanical as one of those clever dwarven automatons I saw at an Ostwick town fair when I was young. He would rather embrace a cold, dead fish than me. I felt so unwanted! No one wants me to be in this town, Anders. No one wants a mage in their presence. They want me to pack up and return to Amaranthine, and I will not deny that if the cause were any less noble or just I would jump on Buttercup and ride down the mountain back to Amaranthine. 

But this cause is worthy, and the cold stares of four beautiful people as they pretend to welcome me will not stop me from trying. It doesn’t matter that two of them are some of the most powerful women in Thedas. It doesn’t matter that the nobility that rejected me because of my magic rejects me still. It doesn’t matter that my future husband obviously holds me in contempt. I will push forward, Anders, I promise you. But right now I want to lick my wounds in this small bedchamber and cry into my pillow. I want to have a moment where I can be a little selfish and self-pitying. I will be better tomorrow. I promise.

I will write to you then.

Faithfully Your Student, 

Evelyn Trevelyan

Anders set the letter down on the table and ran a hand through his hair. Evelyn’s reception at Haven was upsetting, but hardly surprising. They were all devout lunatics up there in the Frostback Mountains, he had said so himself. He told Fiona that it was a bad idea to negotiate a peace treaty with ex-Templars! It hurt to read Evelyn’s bewildered pain and loneliness. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this. It was no surprise, yet it was still painful. He read the letter again, noting that Evelyn had included little sketches in the margins of her letters. She must have been quite restless when she wrote this, Anders thought. Evelyn always sketched when she had something on her mind. So Anders read through the letter again, noting the little pictures of cavorting nugs dancing down the sides of the pages. After reading the letter again Anders stood up and paced around the room for a bit to try and organize his thoughts.

If both of the Divine’s Hands were present at Haven, it stood to reason that the Divine was already there (or would be soon). If a member of nobility was serving as a diplomat, then this was probably the Divine’s attempt to broker a peace treaty. A final attempt, Anders thought. She had called upon all her authority and power and was going to go right after Evelyn. She would utterly destroy her, declare war on the Free Mages, and crush the rebellion, then return Thedas to the status quo.

“We need to get her out of there.” Anders muttered. “She’s going to get herself killed just existing in Haven!” He knew he was panicking, but then amidst the panic a calm, quiet voice echoed in his mind. Anders remembered Fenris’s words. Trust your friend. Have faith. Anders took a deep breath to steady his nerves and slow his racing heart. Have faith. Trust in Evelyn. Anders unsteadily made his way back to the chair by the window and sat down. He still had another letter to read. He broke the wax seal on Evelyn’s second letter and began to read.

To My Dearest Tutor, Anders,

I think the fresh air of a mountain morning has done my spirits a world of good. I feel invigorated and full of hope this morning! Hope seemed so very distant last evening. I was snubbed by the people of rank, but someone (I suspect Bull and the Chargers) said a kind word about me to the servants who are attending to the nobility. I had hot water for washing and a warm breakfast of plain oatmeal and good, strong tea. It felt a little like Ostwick Circle again, though I would be the one heating my own water back in Ostwick. But I was able to make myself look presentable this morning, and my hands are no longer shaking like a leaf on the wind. It’s still bitterly cold outside, and I had to bury my face in my fur collar as I ran down the Chantry halls to meet with the variety of ex-Templars and Chantry officials and Ferelden and Orlesian nobility. 

Lady Montilyet met with me in her office an hour before the first gathering to interrogate me. I’m sorry, that is an unkind thing to say, but it did feel like an interrogation! She asked me pointed questions about the Free Mages and our demands, and tried to strike out several of our hard terms straight off. It will be too difficult to persuade the establishment to change their ways. I asked her if it would be too uncomfortable for them to give instead of take, and she (very politely) sniffed disapprovingly at me. I suppose there was little chance of making an ally in that corner, but it still stings to think that I am so easily dismissed because I left my Circle and am now considered an apostate. A bad mage. 

A good mage is supposed to be unseen and unheard, and I haven’t done either since I arrived in Haven. I was always considered a model Enchanter back in Ostwick. How unfortunate that the Circle fell and we had to flee for our lives. We’ll never be good Mages now, will we Anders? No Circle can hold us in.

Despite being an utter disappointment to Lady Montilyet, I was still invited to have tea and discuss politics with the Divine’s Hands and Lady Montilyet. It was a tense tea party, not at all the sort of midnight teas we would hold in Ostwick when we snuck in scraps from dinner and brewed tea in our dormitory fireplace. And our own afternoon teas in Amaranthine were friendly affairs. This was painfully polite, where every one of my movements was watched. I barely nibbled on the scones and I didn’t even notice the flavor of the tea.

Commander Cullen did not show up, which was a blessing and a curse. He probably thinks I’m a viper or that I’m going to burst into demons if he looks at me wrong. When looks at me at all. I can count the number of times he has met my eyes on my hand. Three. He has looked into my eyes three times. The rest of the time his gaze lingers somewhere above my head. He’s avoiding me, I’m sure of it. He looks as handsome as any hero from a novel, but he’s colder than stone. He doesn’t hate me, I don’t think. You’d have to take notice of someone to hate them. But Anders, I think Commander Cullen hates the very idea of me, and I can’t fathom why he would agree to marry me if he can’t even look me in the eyes.

It might sound odd, but I’m glad he’s handsome. The handsome ones always think they can get away with anything by being charming, so it will be satisfying to show that I won’t be easily cowed. Disappointing for him and his Chantry friends, but satisfying for me. I may be a little thing, but I am fierce!

I sound much more confident than I feel. Hopefully I can fool them.

In any case, I will continue trying to make a difference here in Haven. I will do what I can to prove that the Free Mages are reasonable and can be negotiated with like mature adults. We are not sulky children who need a swat in the back and time in their rooms. We are people who deserve freedom. We deserve legal representation. We deserve to exist as much as anyone else in the world. I pray that I will have the strength to make my voice heard.

Your Devoted Student,

Evelyn

Anders exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She was still alive! Still safe! Andraste’s Tits he was half afraid he’d get some half written letter and a short letter from someone saying their regrets and informing him that Evelyn was made Tranquil or found dead. Anders didn’t know what would be worse. He didn’t want to read any more letters like that. It was a relief to read a letter from Evelyn, and she was still Evelyn.

 

To My Friend and Student Evelyn,

I am glad you arrived safely in Haven, and pleased that you got my letter before you ventured into that “Holier Than Thou” cesspool. Here’s where you chide me for my unkind words and remind me that to get respect we must give respect. Then I’ll tell you that you’re far too sweet for your own good and should try for a little self-preservation and meanness of spirit (if only to protect yourself). Then we will have a good laugh and drink our bitter elfroot tea and snack on a biscuit covered in jam or honey (me the black currant jam, and you the honey). I can tell you horrible jokes, you can discuss your latest botanical experiment you’ve been raising in the Keep’s herb garden, and we can relax in the sunshine in the clinic between patients. But as I am not there, I will do my best to give you proper tea time conversation (as your fellows are too ill-mannered to do).

Miss Evelyn Trevelyan, how charming you look today! I simply love what you have done with your hair! The five-strand plait will certainly come back into fashion with you wearing it with such frequency! And your conversation is quite refreshing! Shall we discuss the healing benefits of common elfroot versus its rarer cousin, Royal elfroot? And would you like a lump of sugar in your tea? It is a spicy black tea, and quite strong. I do hope you enjoy it. May I recommend a tea cake baked with anise seed? It is piping hot, perfect for this freezing Haven weather.

There! I believe I’ve given you a snippet of warm, friendly conversation to hold close to your chest and prevent you from turning into a block of ice! I’m sorry that your reception at Haven was as cold as the weather. Unsurprising, but still sorry. You deserve better.

Shame you called Cullen handsome. I was hoping that the people in Kirkwall were just being polite, or that time had taken his boyish good looks and ravaged them, but no. If you say he’s good looking, then he is. Even if he were ugly you would find something polite to say (though I fail to see anything polite you could say, you would find something). Though I hate to hear of your heartbreak, I’m glad you’ve escaped his interest. An interested Cullen means an attentive Cullen, and an attentive Cullen will bother you at the most inconvenient of times. Say, for example, when you’re moving a litter of kittens and their mama to a warmer, happier location where they won’t be underfoot. That’s when attentive Cullen approaches and starts asking questions and making demands and suspecting you’re carrying a demon in a burlap sack and then you’re stuck on kitchen duties for a fortnight! Or was that cleaning the herbalist station? I got in trouble a lot in Kinloch, and Irving and Greigor got creative with misdemeanor punishments.

I’m not trying to make light of your circumstances, Evelyn. Please don’t think I am. I suppose I hope that teasing these people can bring a smile to your face. You can shake your head and cluck your tongue while reading my irreverent humor. Shall I mock the Divine’s Hands too? I’m sure I can come up with something suitably harsh. It surprises me that Leliana was so cool towards you. From what I understand she and Surana were friends. Once again, time and distance changes us. And since she’s been busy keeping secrets and being surrounded by mage haters, I suppose she’s blending in and being a mage hater herself. Or she’s always felt that way and kept it hidden. I can’t say. I never knew her personally.

I am glad you found some kindness with the mercenaries. Fiona did say they came highly recommended, and if they’re keeping an eye on you and making sure you’re comfortable in Haven when you’ve been so poorly received, they have earned their coin! I hope you will find more allies among the people at Haven. Hawke says her brother is there negotiating treaties and acting as an extra witness to the events at Kirkwall’s Gallows. His name is Carver, he was a Templar who joined to protect his twin sister (most noble reason I’ve ever heard of to join the Order). You can say hello and try to make a friend there! And with the Divine hosting a Conclave in the town, you’ll find some allies somewhere. I think. I’m not very good at being positive, am I?

Perhaps you would like to hear about some of my time in Kirkwall as of late? We (Nathaniel and I, accompanied by Hawke, Varric Tethras, Isabela, and Fenris) ventured into the Gallows on Warden business. While I can’t tell you what we discovered, I can tell you that if you hear any rumors of red lyrium you get away from that shit and report it to me or Surana. Possibly Surana first because your letter will reach her first. That stuff is pure Blight, so don’t touch it. Don’t let anyone touch it. It turned Knight Commander Meredith Stannard into a giant statue of the stuff so definitely don’t let any Templars touch it. I plan to research it some more, but Fenris has expressly forbidden me from endangering myself. And I really don’t want to cross him on this matter. He looked completely sincere when he informed me that he would lock me in my bedchamber and not let me leave. Don’t think I want to test him on this, I’m kinky but not that kinky.

Speaking of Fenris, he wanted me to express his gratitude to you. He appreciates your letter and promises to “have patience with me.” What, by Andraste’s Bountiful Bosom, did you tell him, Evelyn? Fenris refuses to say. Even when I pressed him he merely smiled at me and shook his pretty head. He has a very pretty head, Evelyn, with a beautiful profile and stunning eyes, and he rolls those eyes at me quite often. He tells me to return to my letter writing whenever I ask him about the contents of your letter. He also calls me a “prying Bird Mage!” Evelyn, I demand you come here and fight for my honor!

Perhaps you can swoop into Kirkwall in a righteous fury and scold Fenris for his sass and smug behavior? Well, considering that all I have to endure is some sarcasm and light teasing, I think we will have to switch positions. I will visit you in Haven. I hope you can pull off a convincing swoon at the altar, because I will swoop in and rescue you and it will look much more dramatic if you swoon. I only tease, though. I know how important this whole “marry, form an alliance, prove that cooperation between mages and Templars is possible” thing is for you. For all of us. If anyone could make silk purses out of nug ears it would be you, Evelyn. You’ve got a knack for thinking positive thoughts in dark times. All of us can learn something from your optimism.

In any case, I highly recommend you write to Fiona to discuss more of the Free Mage demands- it will give you a little more weight when you argue with all those stuffy clerics and nobles. And don’t be afraid of them. They smell fear and feed on it. People are always worse than demons of the Fade. Always.

Back to more cheerful topics, I will speak to you about my wedding! I was married by both an ancient Antivan Chantry Mother and the First of Clan Sabrae, Merrill. We had a lovely ceremony in Kirkwall’s Viscount’s Keep. The main hall was decorated with red velvet banners and filled with flowers, and the Dalish set up this small canopy at the end of the hall that Fenris and I stood under during the ceremony. It was a dual ceremony, with Andrastian prayers and Elvhen blessings, and a lot of singing. So much singing. Perhaps too much singing. At least I wasn’t required to sing, I haven’t an ear for it. Or voice. After an agonizing ceremony I married Fenris, and then we had a wedding feast. It was delicious, I’m sure, but I could barely remember what I ate because Fenris found the most precious, wonderful wedding present in the history of wedding gifts.

Fenris found a cat for me! He’s a precious little darling (the cat), with big blue eyes and orange fur and the cutest wiggly pink nose. I adore him. His name is Ser Pounce A Lot (Pounce for short) and he is currently snoozing the afternoon away on my bed. He is precious! I love him dearly.

While I must end this letter now, please write back as soon as you are able. I do not like that you have so little support in Haven, and even if a friendly word from me can lift your spirits I will write pages of inane prattle if only to make you smile. And you know Fiona and Neria would welcome you back at Amaranthine with open arms. I will even see about making you a bit of a safe haven from the people of Haven should you ever need it. Kirkwall might be a bit of a wreck, but it has friendlier faces than the ones around you at the moment. I send you my love and encouragement, and as many hugs as you can bear.

Your Friend, Tutor, and Terrible Influence,

Anders

Anders set his quill down and sighed. He should speak with Varric about the red lyrium, he must ask about a wandering apostate woman named Morrigan, he should start to look for space in which to build his clinic, he should ask Varric if he would offer a safe refuge for a friend fleeing the Divine and her Hands- but all Anders wished to do was nap. Reading and writing those letters was mentally and emotionally draining, and he now felt a little empty and unsteady. He was in no state to return to the training grounds and seek out Mahariel for a sparring session. He was hardly in the mood to speak with anyone now. So he curled up on his bed and pet Pounce and told himself to have faith that all would be well. He was going to have dinner tonight with Fenris, their first dinner alone since they married, and Anders wanted to be at his best for it.

-

“Anders?” Fenris said his name softly at dinner. When Anders looked up Fenris gave him a cautious smile. Anders hesitantly returned the smile.

“Feel well?” Fenris asked. They were alone, eating a private dinner in Fenris’s room. Anders had brought Pounce along for emotional support, and the cat was busy chewing his dinner of ham scraps. The servant brought in all the dishes for dinner and left Fenris and Anders to serve themselves. There was a soup with squash and other vegetables, a roasted chicken, a dish of wild rice and pine nuts flavored with lemon, and a cake flavored with orange and covered in a light, fluffy meringue. Anders couldn’t help but poke at his food however, moving bits of chicken and rice on the plate with his fork.

“I’m well enough, Fenris.” Anders murmured, setting his fork down on the table. “Just lost in my thoughts, I suppose.” When Fenris continued to stare, his expression sympathetic and open, Anders couldn’t help talking.

“I just received letters from my friends in Ferelden, and it was a bit disheartening.” Anders explained. “Everyone is alive and well, but it is difficult to be away from my friends when they are going through rough times.” When Fenris frowned Anders shook his head and reached over to pat Fenris’s hand.

“Not that I regret coming here! Not at all!” Anders assured his husband. “I think being here and allying ourselves with the Dalish is important! And I think our marriage is important! But I miss my friends all the same. The Ferelden nobles keep giving Neria trouble, Fiona is negotiating with the Orlesians, and poor Evelyn is stuck up in Haven getting married to a Templar, and she’s going to be miserable there.”

“Hmmm.”

“They hate magic, all of them, and Evelyn’s such a talented mage with a great big heart- but all they’ll see is magic. They won’t see her. They can talk all about everyone being the Maker’s children, but when it comes down to it mages don’t really count.” Anders sighed. “All because of magic.” Evelyn was sweet, well-mannered, gentle, and probably would elect to spend her days cuddling animals and studying plants if she was given a chance. Anders could hardly conceive of the woman having a bad thought about anyone. She was practically a saint! And no one in Haven would see her. They wouldn't see how she curled up in armchairs to read her books, both the latest research in botany or the terribly lurid murder mystery novels by Varric Tethras. They wouldn't know that she preferred a fruity tea flavored with peaches, or that she always kept sugar cubes in her pockets. They wouldn't know that her hair always slipped out of her braid and into her face, or that she chewed on pencils and quills when she was thinking. The people of Haven wouldn't know the first thing about Evelyn Trevelyan beyond the fact that she was a mage, and it broke Anders's heart. 

“Magic is dangerous.” Fenris murmured. “They are afraid.” Anders’s heart dropped and he slowly withdrew his hand from Fenris’s. Fenris may have said ‘they,’ but Anders could only think of the first sentence. Magic is dangerous.

“I’m not dangerous. Well, I can be. I won’t deny it. I’m ferocious in a fight. But I’m not a dangerous man, Fenris. Not to you or any of our friends.” Anders said softly. “Anyone can be dangerous, Fenris. Not just mages.”

“Magic is dangerous. A weapon.” Fenris insisted. His expression was stern and his eyes looked past Anders. He was seeing something else, remembering something else, and the room felt chilly and remote. Anders tried to draw his husband back into this time, this place, by talking to him. Reasoning with him. Fenris is reasonable, Anders told himself. No one who could unite the Dalish tribes in a war council would be without sense.

“Anything can be a weapon, Fenris. “Anders replied. “If mages had a chance to be free, to live like any normal person, people would see that we are people! There’s good and bad, and we deserve the right to live freely as much as anyone else.” Anders had always believed this. He was a good person. Magic was not good or evil. It simply was. The person made the magic, not the magic the person. And no just god would let an innocent child be a mage if magic was inherently wicked.

“Magisters.” Fenris said pointedly, as if the word negated everything Anders argued for. Magisters existed in Tevinter, and there was slavery and blood magic and demons everywhere. Therefore magic was bad. But Anders knew this was false, even as it hurt to think that Fenris thought of him as kin to magisters.

“I’m not a magister! I’m a mage and a healer, Fenris!” Anders exclaimed. “If you dislike magic so much I don’t know why you married me!”

The room fell silent save for the crackle of the fire. Anders stared at the mangled chicken and wild rice on his plate. Now he had surely fucked this up to the Fade and back, Anders thought glumly. Nearly a week of marriage and Fenris would demand an annulment, Anders was sure of it. Marriage was nice while it lasted, Anders thought. Fenris was a good husband, and Anders had enjoyed their hesitant touches and kisses that were little more than a gentle press of lips. He liked how Fenris listened with his entire body, eyes locked on Anders’s, body leaning towards him- no one had ever been so attentive before. And when Fenris smiled, it felt special. Anders was good at drawing out those smiles, and he felt proud that he could get Fenris to grin and laugh when so few people could. Goodbye blissful union, Anders thought sadly.

“Magic frightens me.” Fenris finally said with his characteristic bluntness. “But I like the Bird Mage. He is not frightening.”

“The Bird Mage is still a mage, Fenris.” Anders replied. “He still has magic.”

“You did not use it.” Fenris murmured. “Not on me.” He reached over the table and took Anders’s hand in his. It was warm.

“You didn’t want me to. I promised.” Anders said, a little bewildered. Of course he wouldn’t use his magic to heal an unwilling patient. He would treat them to the best of his ability, and only if there were desperate measures would he draw on his powers. Ignoring the wishes of his patients went against everything he stood for as a healer, a mage, a man. Going against someone’s autonomy made him no better than a jailer and a Templar. Anders was not a Templar.

“You kept your word.” Fenris said. “Proved yourself.”

“But you still don’t trust mages.” Anders confirmed.

“No.” Fenris said automatically. Anders sighed. He had thought he made progress, but while Fenris had clearly taken a liking to him it was his magic that kept him at a distance. Fenris feared him, and Anders couldn’t help but feel hurt. Rejected. Unwanted. What would happen if he used his magic? What would happen if they were attacked and Anders had to do something more than heal and protect? What if he had to attack? What if he had to kill? What would Fenris think then?

“Make me wrong.” Fenris demanded. “Show me. I want to be wrong.”

“About magic? Mages?” Anders asked.

“Yes.”

“I.. that’s a great task to set upon someone, Fenris. I can’t fight all of Tevinter for you.” Anders explained. “I can barely fight the people in Southern Thedas who think mages are evil, do you think I can topple an entire kingdom?”

“Not Tevinter. Fight me. My fears. Make me know you.” Fenris ordered sternly. Anders chuckled weakly, but Fenris’s words stirred ideas inside his mind. He could not tear Tevinter down, but he could combat fear. Wasn’t that what mages did best? Fight demons?

“I need to find a location to open my clinic. You can help me look. I can teach you about magic.” Anders said. Fenris seemed curious, if the way he stared at Anders with a mildly surprised expression before he brought his chair closer to Anders. Anders smiled and moved his dish out of the way before taking out Neria’s letter from his surcoat pocket and a graphite stick from a pouch on his belt. He flipped the letter so the back side was facing up, and began to sketch out the floor plans for his ideal sort of clinic.

“It needs to be bigger than this room, preferably somewhere where the public can easily access it. It will need storage, light, running water, and good ventilation.” Anders explained as his pencil flew across the paper. “We have to set up cots for overnight patients, and there should be a room dedicated to potion brewing. A storage room should be cool, dark, and dry so that herbs and other ingredients will last longer. A cellar, perhaps. Ideally the clinic would be open to all people, so the money for such a project will have to come from somewhere. I hate the idea of charging the poor for healing services when they have no other options…”

“You have planned.” Fenris said softly, gazing at the paper with wide eyes.

“I’ve done this before.” Anders replied. “It’s easy to know what I need when I’ve done it before. Made all the mistakes and learned my lessons.” He had made many mistakes when he first opened the clinic in Amaranthine. He overestimated his abilities, his endurance, the willingness of his patients to deal with magic- so many mistakes. But Anders learned. He developed his skills and gained a keen eye for what did and what did not require magic. He got better.

“We find the money.” Fenris promised, patting Anders’s hand. “No worry.” And somehow Fenris’s words reassured Anders. It may be difficult. The road ahead of them was full of pitfalls and challenges. But together they could face them all.

-

“I hate that you’re leaving so soon.” Anders said softly. He had gone down to the docks with Nathaniel to say goodbye. It seemed everyone was determined to see Nathaniel Howe off with the splendor Kirkwall could spare. Varric had an enormous farewell feast, and dozens of noble ladies tried to press Nathaniel into staying just a few days more. As a result Anders had not been able to give his friend a proper farewell. Instead they were forced to say their goodbyes in public at the last minute, and it was now a painfully awkward affair.

“Anders, it has been nearly a month.” Nathaniel pointed out with fond exasperation.

“I know.” Anders sighed. “Still hate it.”

“We are only across the sea. Three days away. And we will come as soon as you write for us.” Nathaniel promised. “All of us.”

“How sweet. You’re already promising the aid of the Wardens?” Anders teased. The wind played at his hair, blowing it into his face. Fenris stood next to him, silent and supportive as he said farewell to his friend.

“Only the Wardens of Amaranthine. I hear they are a bit disreputable, but a beggar can’t be a chooser, can they?” Nathaniel asked. His expression was solemn, but his eyes danced with mirth. Maker, Anders was going to miss him! He flung his arms around Nathaniel’s torso and hugged him tightly.

“Miss you already, Nate.” Anders said, his voice hoarse. Nathaniel’s arms slowly raised and returned the embrace, carefully patting Anders’s back.

“You’ll be fine, Anders.” Nathaniel murmured. “But I’ll miss you as well.” Nathaniel Howe was not a soft man. He had to grow up cold and formal and harsh. But underneath the restraint and gloominess there was a man with a good and loyal heart. He cared deeply for his friends, and Anders knew that he was counted among them. He hugged Nathaniel a little tighter.

“Right.” Anders eventually pulled away and grasped Nathaniel’s hand firmly. “It’s been good, Howe.”

“You are not nearly half the prat you pretend to be, Anders.” Nathaniel said gruffly. “Take care of yourself.” He let go of Anders’s hand and looked to Fenris.

“He’s a good man, your husband.” Nathaniel said solemnly. “Be sure to treat him right.” There was a threat there, lingering unsaid in the air between them. And though Nathaniel was taller than Fenris, Fenris looked coolly back at him.

“I will.” Fenris replied. Nathaniel seemed satisfied by this response.

“I will write when I reach Amaranthine, Anders.” Nataniel said, and then he was gone. He walked down the docks and climbed up into the boat that would sail across the sea and take him back to Ferelden. Anders watched as the ship sailed off and disappeared where the sky meets the sea. Alone again, Anders thought. All on his own. But before he descended into melancholia, a warm hand covered in calluses slipped into his own. He looked to his left and met Fenris’s green eyed gaze. Fenris squeezed his hand.

“Back to keep?” Fenris asked softly. “Or stay here?”

“We should head back.” Anders replied. “Don’t want to stick around after dark.”

“Bird Mage is safe with me.” Fenris said. “We can stay.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Anders murmured. “But we should go. Lots to do.”

“Hmmm. Yes.” Fenris agreed, and the breeze ruffled their hair. They walked back to Viscount’s Keep, holding hands the entire way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up Act One! I hope it's been enjoyable for everyone. It's been a joy writing this fic, and I hope that my readers like reading this story as much as I like writing it!
> 
> That being said, I do have a question for my readers and what they want to read next. I have two options and I would love some feedback. Should I go straight into Act Two, or would you like an interlude chapter with Warden Surana and Alistair and Inquisitor Trevelyan in Haven. It will be one chapter, and then we will return to Fenris and Anders. Please let me know what you would prefer to read in the comments, and until next update!
> 
> Thank you!


	8. Interlude: My Sword and Shield Against The Bitter Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interlude chapter that took forever to write! I simply couldn't get Evelyn's part written out! I'm still dissatisfied with it, but I want to write more of Anders and Fenris so it just had to get written.

“I swear, if there is one more delay we are eloping. The crowning ceremony is the important bit, anyways.” Alistair complained as he flopped down on the bed. The mattress bounced under him, jostling Barkspawn. Barkspawn whined loudly and wiggled around to lick Alistair’s face. Neria sighed and set down the letter she was reading. She looked over to the bed from her desk. Their desk, really, but Neria used it far more than Alistair did.

“How bad is the damage?” She asked.

“They want another month for your jewelry and a month to finish my royal cape or something. I don’t care.” Alistair rolled onto his side and stared up at her with big puppy eyes. “Please make them go away, brave Warden Commander?” When Alistair stared up at her like that, Neria would give him anything. But it would be a cold day in the Fade before she let him know exactly how much power her love for him had over her. Not that he would ever abuse it. No, Alistair was considerate in all things, and Neria knew he loved her in equal measure. There was a sense of relief and joy that came with knowing that she was loved by the one she loved best.

“I’ve already threatened them to get you to marry me, and Barkspawn won’t meet any lovely lady mabari until we’re legally wed.” Neria promised. “And we have the people on our side. Everyone loves a good old fashioned love story.”

“Mmmm. I love them too.” Alistair said, looking up at Neria and smiling. His hair was mussed and his collar askew. Neria’s fingers twitched. She needed to fix the collar, run her hands through his hair, give him that affection that he always offered so freely and never seemed to get in return- Alistair reached out for her hand. Neria stood from her desk and crossed the room to take it. Alistair tugged her down until they were cuddled together on the bed and staring up into the velvet canopy, and Neria felt like she could breathe again.

“Relax.” Alistair ordered, his breath teasing her neck. “You don’t have to fix everything at once.”

Neria obeyed Alistair’s command. She matched her breathing to his, slow and steady, and focused on the feel of his body against hers, warm and firm and steady as a rock. This was Alistair. This was the man she loved, the man she would die for- and the man who she knew would die for her without question or hesitation. She didn’t deserve his love or loyalty, or his conviction that loving her was the best thing that ever happened to him. But Neria was selfish and not about to let go of one of the few good things in her hard life. Darkspawn, demons, nobility- let them come and challenge her. Neria would fight them all to have Alistair by her side.

“Feels like nothing will be done if I don’t do it myself.” Neria finally muttered when she felt more at ease. Alistair’s hand lazily stroked her back in long, firm touches.

“Nothing will be done to your exacting standards, you mean.” Alistair said with a chuckle. “Remember when you made Zevran pitch his tent over and over again until you were pleased with his knots?”

“You know his taut-line hitch knot was shoddy. His tent would have fallen apart in the middle of the night and he’d go creep into our tent for warmth and company.” Neria said automatically. “And as much as I like Zevran’s company and knife skills-”

“Not his lock-picking skills, I see.” Alistair quipped.

“His _company_ and _knife skills_ , I am completely uninterested in having sex with Zevran. And you know he would have offered.” Neria continued, even as Alistair’s arms tightened around her and she felt Alistair chuckle. His belly and chest moved against her back, and his breath was warm against her neck as he smothered his laughter into her skin.

“And you would refuse, and Zevran would sigh and then loudly talk about his conquests just to rile us up-”

“And then no one would get any sleep.” Neria finished as she rolled around in Alistair’s arms and stared up at him and his warm brown eyes. They looked at each other, Alistair trying and failing to maintain a neutral, aloof expression, and they collapsed into giggles.

“‘Ah, Isabela is a dear, dear friend of mine!’” Alistair imitated a thick Antivan accent, pretending to be suave and worldly like Zevran often appeared to be. “‘And she has the bosom of a ship’s prow!’”

“He did not say that!” Neria retorted, still giggling.

“‘The young gentleman over there has fine legs- shall we stop for the evening? Please? At an inn?’” Alistair continued, batting his eyes like a fawn’s. “‘It is impossible to seduce a man when you live in a tent!’”

“Alistair!” Neria shrieked when Alistair’s hands, which were lying flat against her back, curved. His fingers twitched and he began to tickle her without mercy. She squirmed and wriggled around, trying to escape, but Alistair was much stronger and far more determined to make her laugh. So, turnabout being fair play, Neria tickled back. There was no quarter given as her fingers tickled his ribs, his sides, and Alistair laughed and laughed and laughed helplessly.

“I surrender, Warden Commander!” Alistair eventually cried out. “Peace!” 

“Truce.” Neria agreed. She sighed and rested her head against Alistair’s shoulder. They stared up at the velvet canopy and watched dust motes dance in the sunbeams.

“I was reading a letter from Zevran just now.” Neria said softly. “He’s been slowly dismantling the Crows from the inside.”

“Maker’s Breath, he’s mad.” Alistair murmured. “Mad and impressive.”

“He would be pleased to hear it.” Neria replied. “He wrote to say he has heard nothing of new of late. But he also said he was making his way to Kirkwall.” In exact words, Zevran informed her that he heard rumors of Flemeth hanging around and keeping company with the Dalish who lived on Sundermount, and with the Dalish convening in Kirkwall for their war council he had decided to travel to the city for further information.

“He said it would make for a pleasant break. Less murder and more intrigue.” Neria added. Though the letter was gossipy and fun, Zevran was far more serious than usual. Destroying the Antivan Crows had changed their friend. Or perhaps he was more willing to show more of himself when he was not standing in front of people. Zevran was a lot more complicated than he liked to pretend to be, but Neria knew his loyalty and friendship was unquestionable.

All of her best friends had wanted her dead at some point, after all.

“And probably a lot more sex.” Alistair muttered. “Did he give you a rundown of his latest conquest?”

“No, not this time.” Neria replied. “Thank the Maker.”

“I’m still recovering from his last letter! Do you think he was making it all up?” Alistair asked, and something in his voice made Neria wonder if he was really as horrified by Zevran’s sexual conquests as he claimed to be. Alistair was always curious and willing to try everything at least once, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn that he secretly looked forward to reading Zevran’s correspondence. It would be like a romp through the forbidden, and seeing the world through Zevran Arainai’s words was certainly educational!

“Possibly.” Neria replied with a shrug. “I’ve heard enough rumors from other sources that makes me think he was telling the truth. He might have even skimmed over details.”

“Doesn’t sound like our Zevran.” Alistair remarked, propping himself up on his elbow. “He was always willing to go into excessive detail when we knew him.”

“There’s only so much you can fit into a letter, Alistair.” Neria mused. “And a good deal of it was information about- well, about Morrigan.”

“Morrigan.” Alistair murmured. “Any news about her and…?” He let the question trail off, hanging in the air. He appeared concerned, brown eyes glimmering with the sort of worry that Neria shared. Alistair and Morrigan had always fought and sniped at each other, but they did care for the other in their own way. Surviving the Blight and traveling together tended to bind people together that way, and beyond that Alistair knew that Morrigan was with child last they had seen each other. His child. Neria knew he could not help but think of that child, and that he wished to help care for them.

“There’s nothing about Morrigan. Zevran’s been looking, and even Anders wrote to say he’s keeping his ear opened for any rumors- but Zevran said he heard about Flemeth. Apparently the Dalish clans have run into her on Sundermount.”

“Flemeth? That old witch, Morrigan’s mother who-” Alistair’s face turned ashen. “Maker’s Tits, what if she goes after the child?” Neria sat up and gripped Alistair’s forearms tightly, drawing his attention back to her and away from his horror and fear.

“We won’t let that happen.” Neria said firmly. “Morrigan’s clever and a lot stronger than she looks. She’ll keep the child safe, and we’ll keep looking for them both so we can protect them.”

“Right. It’ll be a lot easier when we’re married.” Alistair confessed. “I’ll feel steadier with you by my side officially.” When he flopped back down onto the bed Neria carefully followed, settling herself down next to him.

“I wish we didn’t have to bother with all this royalty business.” She confessed. “I’m here to marry you, Alistair, not marry the King.” Neria sighed. All the formality and rules were enough to drive a woman to madness! Alistair was worth all the trouble and more, but it hurt to have every aspect of her being judged just so a group of old men could decide if she was worthy of Alistair. She, a nobody elf mage from the Circle who became the savior of the country, was still just a nobody elf mage.

“I am the King. That’s not going to be a problem, is it? Should I find someone to recommend me to you?” Alistair joked, but when Neria looked up at him she saw the worried frown on his face, the shadows in his eyes. He was turning inwards, hiding the worry and fear again, and that couldn’t be allowed. Neria flung her arms around Alistair and hugged him tightly.

“I’ll marry you, crown or not.” She promised. “You’re stuck with me now, Alistair Theirin. If the Blight couldn’t keep us apart the Ferelden nobility doesn’t have a chance.” And though she couldn’t see it, she felt Alistair smile as he pressed his lips to her forehead. Good, she thought as a wave of protective love swept over her. Alistair had her now, and he would never be harmed or hurt if she was around.

“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather have stuck to me.” Alistair joked. “You don’t have thorns, do you? Thorny things are hard to cuddle.” He pulled Neria closer, and she buried her face into his shoulder. He is too good, she thought with a smile. No one deserves Alistair Theirin, especially the ungrateful Ferelden nobility who cast him aside until they were desperate for royal blood to sit on their stupid throne. Alistair deserved better, and Neria was going to give him her best. He deserved nothing less.

“No thorns here, darling.” Neria whispered, and they twined together like the vines of a rosebush.

-

It was quiet in the tunnels under Ostwick’s Circle Tower. The tunnels were used for smuggling back when the building was an ancient fortress, but now they were used to transport goods in and out quickly and quietly. They were using the tunnels for their original purpose, Evelyn thought as she shut another door behind her and dropped the wooden bolt into place. Mages were treated as goods in southern Thedas. The goods were transporting themselves out of the Circle. Evelyn debated over sliding a crate against the door, but there wasn’t any time to spare. She turned back to her task at hand: keeping the slowest members of the group moving.

The decision was made after the murder of First Enchanter Lydia. The Templars claimed an unruly apprentice lost control of their magic and killed the First Enchanter, but everyone in the Infirmary recognized a stab wound when they saw one. So the night the First Enchanter was cremated the Enchanters gathered and made their plans. Not everyone could be saved, they decided, but as a whole they would give their Circle and their knowledge the best chance of survival. They would send the young Enchanters out with the most vulnerable in Ostwick- the children and the Tranquil. The older mages would stay behind.

The younger Enchanters like herself walked among the group of very quiet and sleepy children, nervous apprentices, and silent Tranquil. They moved like grey shrouded ghosts through the wet underground tunnels. It smelled of damp earth and mold, and Evelyn hoped with every cautious step that soon they would smell the salt of the sea on the air. They couldn’t use magic. They couldn’t attract attention.

The illusions upstairs would only hold for so long, Evelyn thought grimly as she shut another door closed and pulled an iron gate closed over it. The secret work of weeks of spellcraft and careful planning would only give them minutes of time when the Templars caught on to what had happened to the mages in Ostwick. The escapees had to make time, hence the extra precautions: the locking of the doors, the dousing of the few torches they passed, the silence, and the fast walk that bordered on a light jog. It was reckless and poorly planned, but it was the only plan they had.

If they had more time perhaps they could have come up with a plan that could save everyone, but there was no time to wait. The mages knew they had to run. Lots were drawn, fates decided, and those who wished to leave and those who planned to stay said their goodbyes in secret. It would have ruined everything if the Templars thought their charges knew of their fate. They had to pretend at ignorance and escape when the moment was right.

The water was nearly up to her ankles, and it was so cold it bit at her skin. It was the water that helped them choose their escape route. The heavy spring rainfall flooded the tunnels under the Circle. That water met with the ocean that crashed into the cliffs below Ostwick. Where there was water rushing in there was a way for water to rush out. Other mages (and a few sympathetic Templars) strung together makeshift rafts along one of the flooded tunnels, creating path that led to the outside world and freedom. At least, Evelyn hoped it would be freedom.

They had to hope. Without hope they would die. Evelyn did her best to not panic as they walked through the damp and the dark, balancing on wobbling rafts and stepping over slime covered stones. She had to be strong. The children were frightened but she must show them there was nothing to fear. When the sound of waves lapping against a distant shore grew louder she urged the children to walk without fear- little Nanette, Peter, Samuel, all the children of the first form, only seven or so, and she cajoled and encouraged them to walk faster. They listened to her, dutifully obeying their teacher as they clambered down slippery stone steps and crawled over rafts and planks. 

Every once in a while they came a few souls who dared to aid them in their flight. Evelyn didn’t recognize most of them as they were shrouded in cloaks and shadows, but she recognized the clink of armor and the heavy sound of velvet swishing with every step. A few of Ostwick’s Templars betrayed their Order to help the mages escape. Evelyn couldn’t understand why they would turn from everything they stood for to help their prisoners, but she was grateful. It was a new feeling, knowing that the Templar swords were drawn for their defense. The people they met held up torches or murmured “All clears” and “Not much furthers.” Once, when Evelyn slipped on a mossy rock, a gauntleted hand gripped her elbow and hauled her upright.

“Thank you, Ser Ricard.” Evelyn murmured to the stone faced Templar who helped her. Ser Ricard was an older man who never once spoken a word to her or any other mage in Ostwick. A strange expression flickered across his face, a sort of sad, silent grief that flickered across his craggy features, but the light shifted and the moment and expression were gone. He did not speak. He merely nodded to acknowledge her thanks and pointed further down the tunnel. They had a long way to go.

Sometimes Evelyn thought she heard the faint sounds of shouting and the clashing of swords, but it could have been her imagination. Every once in a while she thought she smelled acrid smoke, but she ignored it and urged her charges on. When the scent of salty air and the light of the moon filled the entrance of the tunnel, the mages of Ostwick pushed forward to the open air and freedom. It wasn’t until they were all safely aboard the small boat and sailing towards their transport vessel that Evelyn looked back, back up the seaside cliff and back to Ostwick Circle.

The Circle was burning. The only home she had, the place she had lived in for nearly twenty years now, was gone. And with the Circle went everything and nearly everyone she had ever known, and she could feel the heat of the flames on her face, on her body, she was burning with them just like she should have when Ostwick fell- and the fire licked up her sleeves until she was burning up and she couldn’t breathe-

Evelyn clawed her way out of her blankets, flinging herself upright in her bed. Her nightgown was tangled up around her waist, her blankets and pillows tossed around the room. The weak light of a dying moon filled her chamber as Evelyn gulped in fresh, cold air and tried to remember where she was and how she had come to be here. What was the date? Maker help her, where was she and what was the date?

It was the fifth, perhaps sixth day of Firstfall. She was in Haven, readying herself for a meeting between mages and Templars and preparing herself for her wedding. She was alive, and she had successfully led the children and Tranquil of Ostwick out of danger and to Amaranthine with her peers before Ostwick fell to ruins. She was alive.

She was alive and she didn’t deserve to be.

Those dark thoughts whispered to her when she was cold and alone. She didn’t deserve to be alive. She should have stayed behind. She should have died with her teachers, with her friends. But instead she had escaped. She was a coward and shouldn’t have been here in Haven. Evelyn should have died in Haven, or died defending First Enchanter Lydia, or died protecting anyone else who had been hurt and abused in Ostwick. But no. She had been protected by wealth and a title, protected by bribes to the Chantry that made her essentially invisible. Untouchable. She couldn’t be hurt.

And now she was betraying all of her mage brothers and sisters to marry a Templar. That’s what it felt like, a betrayal of her people and what they stood for. It was a sensible proposition, of course. If someone could prove that a mage and Templar could work together, marry, be successful and be a united force, there could be peace. No one wanted war, after all, and if Commander Cullen and his Templar force were sincere about their separation from the Chantry perhaps they had common ground. But it didn’t feel like it, and Evelyn wondered if she was marrying the enemy instead of bringing peace. She felt like a traitor.

No, she told herself as she sat up. It did no good to talk like that. Evelyn slid out of bed and slipped her boots over her wool socks. A walk would do her more good than hiding in her bedroom like a child, jumping at shadows and thinking dark thoughts. Perhaps she’d go to the chapel and pray. Prayer was one of the few activities she was sure no one would object to in Haven. Evelyn pulled her heavy wool cloak over her shoulders and left her bedchamber, quietly shutting the door behind her. 

As she walked she heard two sets of footsteps behind her, the faint clink of metal and sound of leather soles against stone. Her honor guard, Evelyn thought dryly. One would be an ex Templar who had taken refuge in Haven, and one would be one of Bull’s Chargers. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder and found Dalish walking a few paces behind her, her blond hair pale gold in the moonlight. Evelyn gave Dalish a small, relieved smile. Thank the Maker, it was Dalish! Her smirk and bright eyes gave Evelyn peace of mind. Dalish was always quick with a joke and unholy grin, and she just seemed to know when those irreverent bits of humor were most needed. Evelyn liked her immensely. Evelyn glanced over to the ex Templar who had taken position at Dalish’s right.

Her second guard was Ser Rylen, who hailed from Starkhaven. He had an intelligent gaze and made polite conversation with her when he escorted her around Haven. He seemed to be the chief guard assigned to watch her. Evelyn hated being under constant watch, but she appreciated that Ser Rylen allowed her a measure of freedom the other Templars did not. He certainly didn’t stop her from leaving her room, and she overheard him hotly tell Commander Cullen that he was a soldier and “dinnae break his vows” to play nursemaid to a grown woman. Evelyn was glad to have won at least someone’s approval. Maker knew she would never get it from her future husband and his cronies.

“I’m going to the chapel.” She informed them both. “To pray.” Perhaps she would ask Andraste and the Maker to forgive her bitter mood and guide her towards more charitable thoughts. Evelyn knew better than to ask for a friend- the only friends she had in Haven were Bull’s Chargers, and Evelyn couldn’t discount the fact that their loyalty had been bought with gold.

“Pssh, you Andrastians and your prayer.” Dalish teased lightly. “Can’t go pray out in the wilderness, got to pray to a dead hunk of wood or stone inside a fortress.”

“Lady Trevelyan, if you need a private hour of prayer it can be arranged in the morning.” Ser Rylen suggested. “No need to skulk about in the dark.” With his accent and manner he sounded more like a fussy nanny than a battle hardened soldier. Didn’t wish to play nursemaid indeed!

“I had a troubled sleep.” Evelyn said softly. “I wish to pray in the chapel before returning to my room.” Ser Rylen didn’t seem to have anything to say about that, and so Evelyn continued walking through the cold stone walls of Haven’s Chantry. It was more like a monastery than a Chantry, though it seemed only a few rooms in the structure were in regular use. The chapel was practically abandoned, as everyone preferred to offer their prayers to the altar in the main hall. But Evelyn preferred the tiny chapel in the east wing. At least she didn’t disturb sermons with her presence there! She turned another corner and hurried down the hall.

The chapel was a small room with a wooden bench situated in front of a small altar near the back wall. The windows were a thick glass that was slightly wavy, not the fine Nevarran stained glass that Evelyn was used to seeing in the city Chantries. Haven was a monastic retreat, Evelyn reminded herself as she approached the small box filled with votive candles stacked on top of each other. Evelyn pulled out one and dropped a copper coin she had in her cloak pocket into the donation box next to the candles. The motion was automatic: take the candle, leave money to purchase new candles. 

The candle was smooth in her hand, and she stepped over to the altar and the wooden statue of Andraste that towered over the altar. She heard Dalish whispering to Ser Rylen behind her, but she couldn’t make out the conversation. They must have decided to stand outside of the room to give her some measure of privacy.

Someone had already set a candle out on the altar. It was lit earlier in the night, as a small puddle of wax dripping all over the altar and the stone floor. Someone else prefered to pray in private in Haven. Evelyn lit the flame of her candle with the other votive candle and set hers down next to it. Then she shuffled over to one of the benches and kneeled down before it. It was quiet, which was good, and well lit, which was even better. It was nothing like her bedchamber, which was filled with so many shadows that Evelyn felt jumpy just entering the room.

She supposed she should murmur some of the Chant, or recite a few memorized prayers from a prayerbook, but Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to sing the Chant, and the prayers wouldn’t come to her lips. She couldn’t even think of an appropriate hymn for her situation. Evelyn gazed up at the wooden statue of Andraste, a crude carving that was about as long and thick as her forearm, and she let out a small sigh.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what to do. Is there a part of the Chant that applies to me?” Evelyn confessed. The Andraste statue smiled beatifically. The dark wood gleamed in the candlelight. Yet there was no divine answer, no voice that told her all would be well. There was nothing but the flicker of the candles and the whistling of the wind outside.

“I feel lost. I am lost.” Evelyn murmured. “And I have no one I can confide in. No one wants me in Haven. I came here to make peace, but it- it isn't working. No one wants to build a new future, they just want the mages to quietly go back to the way things were.” And that couldn’t be allowed. It would mean death for every mage who left. Every mage who fled their Circles would be slaughtered. What was the point in trying to prove her right to live? When she was the model Circle mage she was nearly killed, and now that she was an apostate she was equally damned. It didn’t matter what she did. Mages existing was a crime in most of Thedas. She was fighting ideologies that had been implanted in people since birth. Who could overcome that?

“There’s so much we can accomplish if we work together, but I don’t know if I can convince anyone here of that.” Evelyn said. “I can barely convince myself. But, Andraste, if there was ever anyone who knew struggle and sacrifice, it would be you. I wish I had your conviction.”

“It is hardly a matter of conviction. You came to Haven, did you not? You have mettle. It is merely a matter of devotion to your cause.” A woman remarked behind her. Her accent was Orlesian, her ‘v’s soft and words flowing together like a song. 

Evelyn whipped around to see who was there. An older woman wearing Chantry robes stepped into the chapel. The dark red and white velvet of her robes swished across the stone floor as she walked confidently to the votive candles and plucked one out of the box. The donation box rattled with the addition of her coin, and then she was at the altar, lighting her candle with Evelyn’s before setting it down. She bowed her head for a brief moment before sitting down on the bench next to Evelyn.

“So you are the one I have been hearing of.” The woman said frankly. Evelyn stared at her, waiting for harsh words, but the woman only stared back. Based on the formality of her robes Evelyn guessed that she was a Reverend Mother, but she didn’t wear a headdress or even a cowl over her head. Her hair was as white as a cloud and was braided and wound around her head like a crown. Her skin seemed as thin as fine parchment. She was much older than Evelyn thought, for she walked with the gait of a person perhaps half her age. Despite her physical fragility she radiated self-assured strength, and her pale eyes were fixated on Evelyn’s face.

“You are not nearly half the terror I was led to believe.” The woman added, and one of her thin eyebrows lifted in a delicate arch. “And you pray as well! Hardly a barbarian or maleficar, are you?” The woman chuckled as if she had told a fine joke, and a little smile danced on her lips. Evelyn did not laugh or smile, and the woman’s expression turned gentle. Kind. Understanding.

“Do sit up.” The woman said softly. “We can hardly have a conversation like this, and I cannot join you in kneeling on this stone floor.”

“Forgive me, Reverend Mother.” Evelyn managed to murmur when she recovered enough of her senses to realize that this Chantry Mother wanted to speak with her. And she was teasing her in a gentle, kind way, laughing with her and not at her. There was no suspicion or cruelty in her eyes, only curiosity. Evelyn felt like she had been starved of kindness the moment she entered Haven, and now someone was offering her a meal! But why?

“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.” Evelyn said. This was some sort of joke, wasn’t it? The old woman must be looking for weakness, for something to exploit and turn against her- she was a Reverend Mother! She wasn’t about to be kind to a mage, especially an apostate! So what did she want?

“We can hardly speak as equals with you on the floor.” The woman replied. “And I have the sneaking suspicion I should have spoken with you much sooner.” She gazed down at Evelyn expectantly, her pale eyes bright. Her gaze felt… well, it felt as if there was weight in her gaze. It was forceful. Evelyn slowly rose up and sat down on the bench.

“Much better.” The woman declared. “So you are Evelyn Trevelyan, former Enchanter of Ostwick Circle, currently a member of the Free Mages of Amaranthine.”

“You didn’t say I was an apostate.” Evelyn blurted out instead of simply saying something like “yes.” Oh why didn’t she keep her answer simple? Now she sounded combative and rude and this old woman would gossip and she would have even more hostility aimed towards her! But the woman only tilted her head and smiled.

“Do you call yourself an apostate?” The woman asked.

“No.” Evelyn replied. “But everyone in Haven does.” She heard the whispers behind her back, the muttering that made the word sound like a curse. And she saw it in the people’s eyes. Apostate. Outsider. Danger.

“Hmmph. I hardly care what everyone in Haven does.” The old woman declared. “I am not everyone. You are not everyone. We can do as we like. You wished to pray?”

“Yes. I come to this chapel often.” Evelyn tried to be diplomatic, she tried to say something polite and vague and nothing more, but the truth poured out to this strange old woman with the bright eyes.

“Tonight I had nightmares, but I know that no one would give me counsel or offer to pray with me or even just-” Evelyn sighed. “I am sorry. It has been a difficult few days.” She knew she was wandering dangerously close to self-pity and tears, but Evelyn couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help the wave of exhaustion and frustration and fear that swamped over her at that moment.

“I had hoped that if I prayed there would be- oh, I don’t know. I hoped for a miracle, I suppose.” Evelyn sighed. “I hoped Andraste would come and deliver detailed instructions on how to win these people over. No one trusts me. I suspect that someone has been reading my letters, and everyone is just waiting for me to step wrong. I’m not even that important! I was just… available.” Evelyn nearly laughed, but it came out as a sort of cough. The Reverend Mother said nothing, but she patted Evelyn’s hand sympathetically. The gesture was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Genuine kindness and concern was like spring sunshine on her face.

“Perhaps it was foolish to think a Mage and Templar could enjoy wedded bliss.” Evelyn murmured. “What sort of couple would we make?” The answer was “A terrible one,” for Evelyn had seen what an unequal relationship was like. She would live in fear that her husband would be one step away from killing her at any moment, and he- he would resent her very existence. How could anyone live with fear and resentment hanging over them like a sword?

“It is a better start than most marriages.” The woman remarked dryly. “At least you haven’t tried to have the other killed.”

“We’ll hardly be the model for Mage-Templar relations if we can’t even be civil towards each other.” Evelyn stated. “I have to trust his word that I will not come to harm, but he hasn’t even promised that much.” He had promised nothing. Said nothing. Evelyn knew she was alone, and she was terrified.

“There is more at risk than your life, or even the lives of mages.” The woman murmured. “All of Thedas could crumble, and we must all keep it from crumbling. If an unhappy marriage can prevent war...”

“Right now, I don’t think my marriage will prevent even one death. My future husband won’t even look at me. How can I prove that mages and Templars can unite when my husband can’t stand the sight of me?” Evelyn retorted, but she slumped a little. She drew her cloak closer to herself. The Reverend Mother sat silently next to her, and they watched the candles on the altar flicker, yellow orange flames licking at the air. Evelyn wondered if there was any way she could convince her future spouse to cooperate with her. That would require catching the man and having a conversation with him, which seemed impossible. He was always occupied, either with business or on patrols around Haven- surely the defensive catapults didn’t need personal calibrations every other day! Evelyn knew he was avoiding her, and she wasn’t making the greatest efforts to get to know him either.

“You could seduce him. Your future husband.” The woman said softly, breaking through Evelyn’s brooding. “It can be done, with a bit of work. A new wardrobe, perhaps?”

“No.” Evelyn replied automatically. “I refuse to play tricks or be anything other than what I am.” And she hardly knew how to seduce anyone in the first place. She would look utterly ridiculous, walking around in flimsy silk and batting her eyes like a startled deer! No. She would be herself.

The woman laughed, a low chuckle that seemed to rumble from her chest. It rattled her frail frame, for she laughed with her whole body. Even her pale eyes sparkled with amusement as she laughed.

“You are far more stubborn than I was led to believe! Fiona made an excellent decision when she sent you.” The woman said warmly, and she took Evelyn’s hands in her own. They were warm, and despite their appearance of fragility her grip was quite strong.

“I believe you must be patient. You can reach them. I hear that the Divine is sympathetic to the Mage cause.” The woman whispered. “Your voice will be heard. Have faith.”

“Why?” Evelyn croaked out. “Why are you- I’m a mage, Reverend Mother. Why are you helping me?”

“Mages are the Maker’s Children. We are all the Maker’s Children.” The woman said, as if it was easy to say. “We must not treat our siblings as lesser beings.” The woman slowly got up from the bench, and she smiled down at Evelyn. It was a familiar smile, though Evelyn couldn’t place it. Where had she seen it before?

“And I believe you have more power than you realize.” She added. “You can change this world and make it better. You must not falter. I am glad I met you tonight. Goodbye, Evelyn Trevelyan.” She shuffled towards the entrance of the chapel, but stopped and turned back.

“Evelyn Trevelyan?” She called back.

“Reverend Mother?” Evelyn asked hesitantly.

“Canticle of Trials. Trials 1. There will always be a hymn for the Maker’s children, whenever they need one.” The woman said, and then she was gone. Evelyn turned back to the statue of Andraste on the altar and, after a moment’s hesitation, knelt on the stone floor.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me.” Evelyn began, and in the quiet side chapel in Haven’s Chantry, she started to pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to ask any questions, and I'll do my best to answer them!

**Author's Note:**

> For this singular chapter I looked up travel times in Thedas, lace making, ships, and mead. I can safely say that I got lost in Wikipedia several times while writing this chapter. There will be more tags added in future chapters, I just included what I thought was most relevant for this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit: I wrote a short story about Anders, Cullen, and the kittens in Kinloch Tower and posted it on my tumblr. Even though it is in the comments below, there's a link to it on tumblr [ here!](http://contreparry.tumblr.com/post/166202895068/the-very-short-story-of-apprentice-anders-and-the)


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